


The Emperor's Son

by yoko_goto



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce and Jeremiah are 18 and 22 respectively, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, Incest, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), OOC, Roman Emperor AU, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Switch!Bruce, The major character death isn't them either, The underage stuff isn't them, Twincest, by the way this gets real pretty fast, like very slow burn, no beta it's NaNoWriMo so we die like men, slowwwww burn, so be ready, switch!Miah, this is very much NOT a PWP, twinleska isn't endgame but it's there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 79,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoko_goto/pseuds/yoko_goto
Summary: Faced with losing his claim to the emperor’s throne, Bruce begrudgingly agrees to be tutored in philosophy to regain his father’s faith in him. Little does he know, his appointed instructor plans to school him in much more than the liberal arts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BE WARNED: THIS IS VERY HISTORICALLY INACCURATE. I did my best, but, ya know. I could spend years researching this and not get a single word down, OR I could write the story so that I'm not depriving you of baby batjokes content!
> 
> More relevant warnings related to the tags:  
\- While underage sexual content is not visually depicted, it IS talked about as a past event. It isn’t between Bruce and Jeremiah.  
\- Major Character Death is not of either Bruce or Jeremiah.  
\- Graphic depictions of violence include: stabbing, being bound and gagged, decapitation, and murder in general. This IS a Gotham fanfic, so you can reasonably expect the same or similar level of gruesome violence here.  
\- Rape/Non-Con IS graphically depicted in sordid detail.
> 
> If ANY of the above is triggering or otherwise uncomfortable for you, please be on the safe side and don’t read.
> 
> Otherwise, if you’re still here, enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

The wind frisked sharply across the courtyard, turning over a page in the book Bruce was reading. 

Bruce looked up at this. The sun was beating down hard on his shoulder as he read, and he wondered idly if he should get up and change positions to prevent an uneven tan. 

Then, in the distance, footsteps padded towards him. Bruce stood, setting his book down beside him, mentally noting he was on page 57 of _The History of the Roman Senate_.

“My boy!” called out a deep voice. Bruce cleared his throat.

“Father,” he answered back. As his father approached, Bruce could make out more and more of his purple regal toga and tunic, lined with gold embroidering. It glinted in the sun.

“Beautiful day, is it not?” Thomas Wayne stopped just short of a yard’s length of Bruce, smiling with his hands on his hips.

“I’ve been reading out here for several hours,” said Bruce. 

His father laughed. “That’s your way of saying you’re enjoying the good weather, then.”

Bruce always found it odd that his father tried to evoke an emotional response out of him on something as inconsequential as the weather. In these situations, he’d learned to just say nothing. 

“How have your lessons been going with Proximo?” His father smirked. _Uh-oh_, thought Bruce. He already knows.

“I terminated them last week,” Bruce deadpanned. “I wasn’t learning anything from him, so why continue as his student?”

This brought a huff of laughter from his father. “Oh, my boy, when will you learn that interacting with others is, in itself, a virtue from which knowledge can be extracted?” The smirk never left his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I don’t see a point in receiving tutoring if the lessons concern subjects that can be easily learned from a book,” said Bruce. “We’re more than secure enough to afford expansion of the library when new knowledge has been penned and published.”

Thomas sighed. “Bruce, you’ve spent most of your youth within the walls of the palace, reading anything related to politics. But have you considered some knowledge is incapable of being passed down in written form? That some things need to be experienced to be absorbed?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched slightly. “Yes, Father, and that is why I have repeatedly asked you to allow me to learn from the best. To learn from you, Father. To walk alongside you in the Senate, and see for myself how the politics of the nation operates day-to-day.”

“I cannot take you with me to view Senate proceedings without confidence that you can handle interactions with these statesmen. That is why I have not allowed you to shadow me.”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “You have used that line of reasoning for years. I’m 18, Father. It’s high time that I walk beside you in the halls of the Senate, to best prepare me as your heir to the throne.”

Thomas exhaled through his nose, massaging his browline with his fingers. “Terminating your tutelages left and right does NOT inspire confidence in me that you are deserving of the throne.”

“So what are you saying, Father?”

Additional footsteps padded toward them, and Alfred materialized - as if out of thin air - at Thomas’s side. “My lord,” the manservant said to Thomas, with a slight bow, “I bring you the contract, as requested.” Alfred handed over a scroll, rolled and sealed with the official Roman royal insignia, before bowing and taking leave. 

“Thank you, Alfred,” said Thomas, nodding in thanks. Bruce watched him pad away, his off-white tunic swaying as he walked.

“Now, Bruce,” Thomas continued, “here I hold a contract for a new tutor for you. He will be instructing you in philosophy and writing.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bruce. “I have already read many a fine book on both topics and have completed the Roman instructional books as expected of my age years ago. There’s no need for me to study under a tutor for either of those subjects. Besides, how will increasing my learnings in philosophy help me in my political career, anyway?”

Thomas delicately balanced the scroll between two fingers, undoing the seal with one hand and unfurling the scroll out for Bruce to see. “Bruce, I have grown tired of you not comprehending the gravity of this situation. For years, you have scoffed at and undermined my every attempt to increase your knowledge through in-person instruction. Do you truly think that you know more than I do as to what you should and shouldn’t know before taking a position as high and noble as that of the emperor? You insult me with your disobedience, no matter how much you try and justify it through your narrow-minded reasoning. Not everything can be grasped through the lens of logic, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted as he read the scroll presented to him. Then, he gasped. 

“One year of required lessons? With this…Jeremiah Valeska? Even as a child, I outgrew the pace of my teachers after mere months,” huffed Bruce. 

Thomas smiled. Oh, no.

“One year of required lessons. And,” Thomas punctuated with a lift of his finger, “if you stop the lessons before the year is up, you renounce your claim to the throne forever.”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Listening now, my boy?” Thomas stepped back, a satisfied grin splashed across his face. “The situation is dire. However, the contract also says that if you do this, not only is your claim not renounced, but you will then be able to step alongside me during my daily proceedings at the Senate at the conclusion of the year of tutelage.”

“Hmph.” Bruce stared down at the ground. “Then I have no choice. I will do anything to appease you, Father, and if this is the path that leads me to success as your heir to the throne, so be it. Regardless of the…_frivolity_ of the subject matters at hand.”

Crunching resounded in the distance, sounding suspiciously like multiple pairs of footsteps. When Bruce looked up, his eyes widened impossibly further.

Alfred was approaching, flanked by a man in an off-white tunic, not unlike Alfred’s, and a sparkling-white toga that could’ve easily blended in with the reflection of the sun. What struck Bruce, though, was two things.

One, that the man had fiery red hair, which was… unusual. Bruce had never seen anyone with that color of hair, at least not naturally.

And two, that the man was quite young. If not for being slightly taller than Bruce, Bruce would’ve guessed he was the same age.

“Luckily for all of us, I endeavor to convince you otherwise,” drawled the man, a small smile playing across his lips as he sauntered towards them. He bowed low to the ground. “My lord,” he said to Thomas. He nodded lightly to Bruce, the smile never leaving his face. “Your Highness,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Pardon me, Father,” said Bruce, eyes flicking up and down Jeremiah, “but is this…my tutor? He looks quite young.”

The tutor and Thomas gave each other a look, and then both burst into laughter. His father’s guffaws made him arch back, his head tilted back, while this tutor - Jeremiah, was it? - crouched forward, his hands nearly meeting his knees as his chest heaved with laughter. 

“My son, this is Jeremiah Valeska. He has traveled beyond the mountains to be your instructor in philosophy and writing, and because this is a long-term arrangement, we have given him a room in the palace so that you may have easy access to him at any time you need.” Jeremiah finally pulled himself up, wiping tears from his eyes at the apparent hilarity of the situation.

Bruce was incredibly confused. Why did everyone but him find this situation hilarious?

“And what are his qualifications? My other tutors have had long careers in their respective academic professions.” Bruce didn’t take his eyes off Jeremiah, still wondering if this was some sort of elaborate prank by his father. 

Jeremiah, for his part, was unfazed, leveling a knowing smirk Bruce’s way. “He’s a blunt one, isn’t he?” he said, breaking eye contact with Bruce to glance over at Thomas. 

“I did tell you, he doesn’t mince words,” Thomas replied. He gestured to Jeremiah. “Jeremiah has been a student of Cicero’s for almost a decade. A few years ago, he started his own school of philosophy and taken on many students. Cicero has begun relying on him to vet out potential future students to take instruction under Cicero.”

“Why not have Cicero tutor me directly, then?” asked Bruce. 

“Should you be so foolish as to terminate lessons again, I will not have you so flagrantly disrespect another esteemed tutor in the way that you have before,” said Thomas. “However, should you successfully complete lessons with Jeremiah after a year and have interest in additional instruction, Jeremiah has promised to give you the highest recommendation to Cicero so that you can continue studies with him.”

Bruce looked back over at Jeremiah, the insidious smirk still plastered on his face. Fate truly was testing his resolve. 

“So it shall be, then,” said Bruce in resignation, taking a proffered pen from Alfred. “One year of instruction, and then I will be able to accompany you to the Senate and learn the true workings of politics.”

Bruce could feel Thomas looking on as he signed the contract. “My son, you have made the right choice.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Father,” said Bruce. “I am doing this to maintain my claim to the throne. Whether I truly gain anything useful from this tutelage I still have considerable doubt on.” With that, Bruce strode away from the three of them, not seeing value in staying after the signing of the contract.

“Your first lesson begins tomorrow!” Jeremiah yelled out.

Bruce waved a hand dismissively in acknowledgment.

* * *

Bruce was reclining in his room, finishing off _The History of the Roman Senate_ when he heard the pattering of footsteps approach.

A faint knock on the wall, and Alfred appeared in the overhang leading to his room. “I have your dinner, Your Highness,” he said, holding out a tray of grapes, bread, and veal.

Bruce smiled, standing to retrieve the tray. “Thank you, Alfred, but you really don’t need to call me that when we’re not around others.”

Alfred nodded. “I understand, sir, but it is difficult when it has been an ingrained habit since the time you were young.”

“Well, I’m 18 now. I’m grown enough to have influence over how I’m referred.” Bruce took the tray from him, setting it down by his reclined chair before pacing back to Alfred.

“I hope I wasn’t intruding by appearing in the overhang. I know how you are about others entering your room,” said Alfred.

“I’m very protective of my space, but you of all people are allowed some leeway,” said Bruce. He crossed his arms, looking over to the side.

Alfred nodded, and then cleared his throat. “It means a lot to your father that you accepted his proposal for tutoring.”

Bruce shrugged. “I want more than anything to become emperor of Rome. I want to help those in Roman society who have not been given the opportunities that I have to be successful. Not everyone is as lucky as I. But you are a shining example of someone born without means who, given the opportunity, has excelled and done well for himself.”

Alfred smiled, a rare sight for him. “I am indeed indebted to your family for lifting me out of poverty. There’s not much work for an old man to do that will allow me to afford a living, especially after my wife passed on to the afterlife.”

“As soon as I become emperor, I aim to provide this assistance to all who need it,” said Bruce. 

Alfred bowed lightly. “Very good, sir. I shall leave you alone to your dinner, unless you require more from me.”

“Wait,” Bruce said as Alfred turned back. “What…what am I to do with this situation I’m in? With my tutoring. I don’t see the logic behind why my father thinks I would benefit from lessons in philosophy and writing. But clearly, he won’t be convinced. And I’ve signed away my right for complaint. Isn’t there anything I can do to prove I don’t need the lessons to start shadowing him in his work in the Senate?”

“Hmm.” Alfred paused, placing his chin in his hand. “Perhaps you can see how your first lesson goes with Jeremiah? And then, based on that, you can go to your father with your concerns. As of right now, you don’t have enough information to know for sure how the lessons will go. But that first lesson will be a good indicator of what you can reasonably expect going forward. If it’s a disaster, your father will be more likely to terminate your lessons early and allow you earlier access to his work in the Senate.”

Bruce smiled gently. “Thank you, Alfred. It makes the most sense to see how the lesson goes, and then use that as ammunition for convincing my father of the illogical nature of his request.”

Alfred bowed once more. “Always at your service, sir. Enjoy your dinner.” With that, Alfred took his leave, not having moved an inch that whole time from his place under the overhang.

* * *

Bruce woke up from a fitful night of sleep to the sound of gentle knocking on his wall. 

He opened his eyes, sitting up and seeing Alfred with a tray of strawberries. 

“Good morning, sir. Here is your breakfast.” Alfred stayed put as Bruce stood to accept the tray. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce nodded, taking the tray and moving to sit back on his reclining couch.

“Oh, and before I go,” said Alfred, “Jeremiah is waiting on the patio to start your first lesson.”

Bruce sighed. “Noted.”

Alfred bowed, one side of his lip curling up before taking his leave.

Bruce stifled a groan as he sat and nibbled on the strawberries. One lesson, he repeated to himself in his head. One lesson, and then he can go to his father armed with evidence of Jeremiah’s incompetence and insufficient training. Or, at the very least, the pointlessness of being taught philosophy and writing when having a foundational knowledge of both was more than enough for politics. 

* * *

Bruce concluded his breakfast and headed to the patio to meet Jeremiah.

When he entered, Jeremiah was lying back on a couch, a smug grin painted on his face. He stood as Bruce approached.

“Your Highness,” he said, nodding lightly at Bruce. 

Odd, thought Bruce. This was the second time in as many meetings that Jeremiah did not greet him with a bow, when he clearly was capable of doing so for his father. He was accustomed to such shows of affection and groveling by everyone else in his life, save for his father and Alfred, so it was decidedly confounding to meet someone who did not conform to the pattern.

Bruce never found much utility in such affections, though, so while the absence of it was puzzling, it was not missed.

“No books or scrolls?” asked Bruce. A cursory look around upon entering the room had yielded nothing, which was surprising. Normally, his tutors were overloaded with books. 

Jeremiah grinned. “Not necessary today.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but sat down anyway, at a couch across from the one Jeremiah had been sitting in.

“Given the reluctance you’ve so flagrantly shown towards these…_frivolous_ subjects,” said Jeremiah, “I thought a different mode of instruction was in order today. A more…experiential lesson, if you will.”

Bruce had just enough time to register the edge in Jeremiah’s tone before Jeremiah sat down, leaning slightly forward with his elbows on his knees.

“This first session is going to get a bit personal. I hope you’re ready,” he said, flashing a grin Bruce’s way.

Bruce gave a curt nod. The sooner they started, the sooner he could leave to see his father and convince him that these lessons were not just superfluous, but also served no purpose.

“Now, tell me. Why do you want to go into politics?”

Well, that threw Bruce for a loop. 

“I have always admired the work of my father. There would be no greater reward than walking in his footsteps and serving the great Roman Empire,” said Bruce.

Jeremiah snorted. “Yes, yes. A noble response, to be sure. But tell me - what’s in it for you? There are innumerable ways to serve Rome that don’t involve becoming the emperor. If you were not the heir to the throne through blood, what would be your motive for becoming Caesar?”

“To serve the people,” said Bruce simply. “To represent their interests and ensure that they are happy and prosperous.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes - an act that, should a commoner have leveled it his way, would have surely led to restraint and possible assault by the Praetorian Guard. But here, in the privacy of the patio, his father had elected to apparently not stage a guardsmen in the room. A high level of trust granted to this tutor. Unprecedented, even.

Bruce thought back to his first meeting with Jeremiah. The familiarity with which Jeremiah and his father had interacted.

Had they…known each other before this?

“Your Highness, that is all well and good - “ Jeremiah gave a chuckle, and Bruce increasingly was beginning to believe he wasn’t being taken seriously, “- but why do _you_ gain happiness from the people being happy and prosperous? What does that even look like to you?”

Bruce tilted his head in thought. 

“Ideally, I want a republic where no one has to suffer. Where no one is living on the streets or in poverty. I know there are many in the kingdom who live a destitute existence. It is unbelievable, to think it possible that someone cannot afford to eat, and in the same country someone like myself can simply snap my fingers and have food brought to me, if I so wish it.”

Jeremiah hummed in acknowledgment, looking down at the ground as if in thought. “So, the disparity of wealth in this country bothers you?”

“Yes,” said Bruce. Jeremiah nodded.

“It is illogical,” Bruce continued, “because if there is enough food to go around that I can have as much as I want and need, then that means there should be plenty for others to eat, too, since that storage of food exists for me. Yet, I do not see that being the case.”

Jeremiah laughed. “Your Highness, you are of royal blood. Certainly you’re aware that food is being rationed away from the public supply for your enjoyment and use.”

Bruce shook his head. “It shouldn’t be that way. Everyone should have enough food to live. Everyone should have enough gold to live. That’s why I plan to pass laws that will increase taxes so that we can provide for our poor.”

“Hmm, interesting,” said Jeremiah. “Let’s role play, then. Let’s say I am a Roman senator. Someone influential that, if persuaded, would be able to sway a critical mass of votes to pass a law that will, as you say, provide assistance to the destitute here in Rome.” He smirked. “What would you say to convince me to support your bill?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I have already presented my case. Surely any reasonable person would be convinced.”

Jeremiah let out a laugh. “Well, that assumes reasonable people exist in general, let alone in the Senate.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “How could you possibly know who comprises our nation’s Senate?”

“Oh, Your Highness,” tutted Jeremiah, “Cicero is a highly esteemed orator who has gone to the Senate numerous times to give speeches and advocate for various causes. He has told me about our country’s statesmen. Who they truly are, I mean.”

Bruce sat up. “I had no idea Cicero was involved in politics. Did you ever go with him to the Senate?”

“Oh, heavens, no,” said Jeremiah. “I have no interest in politics.”

“You…have no interest in politics? And yet, here you are, instructing me, the future _Emperor_?” Bruce felt himself tuning out once more, eager to share this with his father.

“Let’s just say, I know enough to be dangerous,” said Jeremiah. “I have always been content with teaching as my profession. But enough about me. Let’s get back to the heart of this matter - persuading me to pass a law increasing taxes so that the poor can receive aid.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not convinced.”

“Correct. I am not.” Jeremiah smiled. “So convince me.”

“Well…” Bruce floundered. He was stumped as why someone wouldn’t support such a bill. “What exactly do you not agree with? It is a fact that some people have a surplus of food, while others’ supplies are nonexistent.”

“That may be true, but why punish those who have worked hard for what they have by forcing them to part with it?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t say it’s punishing them. It’s just the right thing to do. When you see someone suffering, don’t you want to help them, knowing fully that you can?”

“Yes, but we can’t help everyone,” said Jeremiah. “Plus, helping out an unknown stranger is not that appealing. If we must part with some funds, it would make more sense if we knew exactly who it was going to. Sometimes people are not what they seem.”

“Why would someone want to pretend that they are poor?”

Jeremiah smirked. “I have no idea,” he raised his hands in a shrug. “But for as long as systems have existed, people have always tried to game the system. You can’t blame people for being hesitant on freely giving away a tithe to the government, not knowing for sure if the “poor” are really as poor as they say they are.”

Bruce sighed, sinking his head into his hands. This was really exhausting.

Jeremiah grinned at him. It seemed rare that he didn’t have some sort of positive expression on his face. “Let’s set that aside for a moment and assume that we know, for sure, all the poor in the country are legitimately destitute. What would the implementation of this law look like?”

Bruce sat up slightly, the debate having shifted into more familiar terrain. He had thought about this often. “I would tax those who are wealthy a higher amount than those who are not as wealthy. It makes logical sense, considering that they are the people who would miss the taxes the least, so taxing them is the most fair way of implementing this.”

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “Here’s the problem, Your Highness. Those who are the most wealthy in our society are often those financing the campaigns of our senators, or financing the army or guardsmen of the country, or are the very people employing many of our freedmen. They are already giving so much of themselves in the service of this country. Why tax them more than they are already freely giving?”

This gave Bruce pause.

“And besides,” continued Jeremiah, “the very possibility of this bill being on the Senate floor would scare them. They’d feel like they were being taken for granted for what they’re already giving us. Think of the owners of our cotton refineries, or of our distilleries, or of any other business. All provide goods for our countrymen. Think of how that could impact their willingness to operate in Rome if we enact a tax on them like this. They might move their operations to a neighboring country like our neighbor Greece, causing the loss of many jobs here in Rome, leading to _more_ of our citizens living in poverty. Is that really what you want?”

Bruce was silent. 

Satisfied, Jeremiah stood up, beginning to pace in front of Bruce.

“Here’s what you need to grapple with. People are innately selfish. And philosophy tells us this.” Jeremiah threw a knowing grin at Bruce, and Bruce bit back a scowl. “Philosophy is the study of how we process the world, how we understand it, and what matters to us in it. Philosophy teaches us about what people value, and what makes people happy. And, unfortunately, logic is not enough to make people happy. At least, not always.”

“You see, people are motivated by their own goals and interests. And we need to factor that in when dealing with them. You can’t just lay out the facts as you know them and expect everyone to fall in line. People will construct their own reality, their own facts, to give support to their own ends.”

Jeremiah sat back down, out of breath from excitedly pacing and talking. Bruce looked on warily.

“Philosophy gives us tools to understand what lies at the core of people’s motivations, what their greatest desire is. And once we know that, we can plan ahead and create counterpoints that show that the opposite of what they want is actually for their best interests. If one is not adept on thinking on their feet, writing this out in advance helps. And in general, politicians need to know how to manipulate the written and spoken word to accomplish this task. Short of hiring a speechwriter, that is.” Jeremiah smirked.

Bruce’s mind was, surprisingly, blank, still processing all that Jeremiah had said.

When he next looked up, Jeremiah was standing up and walking away.

“Till next time, Your Highness,” he said, giving him a slight nod. “Our next session will be on analyzing what gives life meaning and happiness. Knowing the possible answers to this question will be able to help us form arguments, tailored to each individual, that will sway them to your side.” 

Jeremiah stopped mid-stride. “Oh, and, by the way, Your Highness: I do fully agree with you on your ideas of wealth redistribution.” He gave him a wicked grin. “The best orators and debaters can mask their innermost beliefs, depending on the situation. You can’t always assume people say what they mean. Toodle-oo!” Jeremiah gave Bruce a wave as he strode out of the patio.

Bruce stared after Jeremiah for a long time.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get too far into the political stuff, keep in mind my warning from earlier about historical inaccuracy. The way the Roman Senate operates in my story is not really reflective of how it operated in antiquity. It’s more similar to how the United States legislative branch operates. Not for any merit-based reason; I just happen to be more familiar with American politics, so I’ve mirrored what I know about it here.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think a simple Tumblr post that came across my dashboard would spark an idea for a 50,000+ word story.
> 
> For those curious on how this idea came to be, [here's the post I'm referencing.](https://batjokes-central.tumblr.com/post/185838239964/michaeloliverlove-aaron-shandel-shot-by-michael)
> 
> For those who don't feel like clicking: One day, while scrolling through Tumblr, I saw a post featuring a David Mazouz look-alike, shirtless, with a carpet draped over his shoulder. The positioning of his body and head in relation to the camera, along with the patterns on the fabric of the carpet, made me think: Toga! And thus, this story was born.


	2. Chapter 2

The ambient noise of cicadas intensified suddenly, waking Bruce from a light doze.

Looking around, he at first didn’t know where he was. Then, he remembered. He’d relocated to the courtyard to lie down, fully reclined, face up to the sky, to think.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, judging that now the sun was much lower in the sky.

“My boy, you must’ve needed the rest,” boomed a voice nearby. Bruce shot up quickly. His father was strolling to him, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

Bruce yawned. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I could tell,” said Thomas. “I checked a couple of times in the last few hours to make sure you were still breathing.” His father flashed him a grin.

Bruce stayed silent. When it came to his father cracking jokes, he never saw the point in pretending to laugh when he didn’t find them funny.

But then, something struck him.

“Father,” Bruce began, “what compels you to express your sense of humor, even when others might not appreciate it? Surely if people don’t find it funny, it must feel hollow to keep trying to make others laugh.”

Thomas let out a rolling laugh, taking a seat beside Bruce. “You know, Bruce, I’ve learned much about the dark underbelly of human nature, of the infernal desires of others, during my time as Caesar. It’s difficult to stomach, at times. Making light of things helps distract me from thinking about that. If I sat down to truly process all the things I’ve seen throughout the years, I’d probably never get up and rule again.” He chuckled.

“So, humor is your way of being happy.”

Thomas widened his eyes slightly, then nodded. “Yes. I’d say so. I don’t necessarily derive happiness directly from others laughing along with me, although it is a nice bonus. I like my own jokes, so I tell them. Voicing them is cathartic, in a way. Putting out positivity in a world full of pain is, I feel, an important part of being emperor. Of being a ruler of the people. They deserve hope. But I don’t do it just for the people of Rome.”

Bruce stared into the distance, pondering what his father had said.

“My boy, I can’t say I’m used to you asking such questions of me unrelated to politics. It’s…nice, to not talk about that with you for a change. I assume the lessons are going well with Jeremiah, then?” Thomas smiled gently.

Bruce met eyes with him. “I’m…still not fully convinced of the value of the lessons, but his first lesson has given me much to think on.”

“That’s absolutely wonderful!” his father exclaimed, rising up and clapping a hand down on Bruce’s shoulder. “I am relieved to hear this. I’ve heard many good things about him from Cicero over the years - I had hope he could give you a fresh perspective.”

Bruce was confused on this point, but he didn’t press. “Has he truly been a student under Cicero for 10 years? He’s young to have been studying for so long, let alone become an instructor.”

“Yes. Hard to believe, I know, but Cicero has always considered him a prodigy. In fact, he’s tried numerous times to convince Jeremiah to go into politics, but he won’t budge.” Thomas let out a laugh. “Ah, to be young and willful again.”

“How would Cicero take in such a young pupil?”

His father gave him a nod, his face turning solemn. “Cicero became a sort of stand-in father for him. Jeremiah lost his family many years ago. With nowhere to turn for assistance, he begged Cicero to take him in. Jeremiah being a sharp, eager student was an unexpected bonus.”

Bruce was silent. Then, his father coughed into his hand.

“Well, enough about such grim topics. Selina has been asking after you.”

Bruce stifled back a groan. “As always,” he deadpanned.

Thomas laughed. “Not one dinner with her after all these years? She’s a young senator now, and is doing quite well for herself. She’d be an excellent bride with which to bear heirs.”

“I’ve no time for such things right now. My main priority is learning as much as I can from my books and from you about how to rule the empire.”

Thomas shook his head. “Oh, Bruce. I feel I have failed you in this regard. Perhaps I should have encouraged more interaction with others at a younger age. You were always content to curl up with a book.”

A brief pause.

“Father, you’re normally such a happy man. I’ve never heard you talk such things as the Senate having less-than-virtuous characters.”

Thomas scoffed. “I admit, I try to shield you from that. I…” he trailed off.

_Hmm_, Bruce thought. Rare for his father to lose his train of thought.

“Well, my son, I should get back to work. You can always find me in the study.”

Bruce nodded as his father headed back to the palace.

* * *

The next morning, Bruce, having slept in longer than normal by accident, gave himself a quick bath after breakfast before dressing and heading to the patio for his next lesson.

His curls were still dripping wet when he reached the patio where Jeremiah was sitting, legs crossed.

Which was…_unusual_, for a man.

Bruce filed away this information for later.

“Your Highness,” said Jeremiah, rising from his seat.

Bruce nodded in acknowledgment as he sat down, and Jeremiah followed suit, sitting across from him just like before.

“Today, we will be talking about the purpose of life,” Jeremiah said. “There are many schools of thought on this, and…”

Bruce raised a hand, stopping Jeremiah mid-sentence. “I have been thinking about what we talked about last time.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened, and he looked almost…lost? Bruce couldn’t quite place the expression he wore.

Then, he recovered, a smile gracing his lips. “Continue, then.”

Bruce laid his hand down. “I don’t understand how others can act in self-interest, especially in politics, where taking the oath of office means swearing you will be of the people and for the people.”

Jeremiah stilled momentarily. “I…wish I could understand as well, Your Highness. Though, not everyone has been instructed in the art of empathy by their parents.” Jeremiah looked down. “I, unfortunately, know some who are devoid of it entirely, no matter how virtuous the parents are.”

Bruce looked on, wondering at the change in behavior. It occurred to him that Jeremiah was not unlike his father in some ways, one of which being it was more unusual to see him pensive than cheery.

“Are you speaking about your family?”

Jeremiah looked back up at Bruce. Then, he cackled.

“Oh, Your Highness. I love that you have no care for propriety when it comes to these matters.” Jeremiah quieted. “Yes. My brother was nothing but darkness incarnate when we were growing up. There was never hope for him to outgrow it.”

Unusual to see someone not at all sad at the passing of family, much less a brother. But, Bruce supposed, if they had their differences, it made sense.

Jeremiah was eerily quiet.

Bruce coughed to break up the silence.

“My father told me of your family. I, uh…” Bruce hated these sorts of things. “I’m sorry to hear. I lost my mother at a young age.”

At this, Jeremiah nodded. “So I’ve heard. My mother…my mother suffered a horrible death.”

“My mother’s was prolonged. She was bedridden for years.”

Bruce gulped. Not much could break his stoic manner, but tears were definitely starting to form at the corners of his eyes, after years of not talking about the loss of his mother. He looked down at his feet.

“I…I’m sorry. Prolonged anguish is not something I would wish on anyone.” Jeremiah scooted forward slightly. Bruce still didn’t look up.

“If you…if you ever want to talk about it, I’m more than happy to listen.” Bruce finally looked up at him. Jeremiah gazed intently at him, his eyes shifting focus between Bruce’s.

The look seemed…familiar, but Bruce couldn’t place where he had seen it before. Then, just as quickly as it had come, Jeremiah sat back, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You know what I noticed earlier?” he asked. Bruce shook his head.

“Your hair is wet,” said Jeremiah, a lilt to his voice.

“I bathed this morning. I wanted to make sure I got here in time,” said Bruce.

Jeremiah chuckled, then glanced down at his shoulders. “The water’s dripping down to your shoulders. Surely you must be cold?”

_Oh._ Bruce had been so absorbed with their conversation, he’d hardly taken notice if he was cold or not.

“You’re observant,” said Bruce, with no malice to his voice.

Jeremiah smiled. “Being a tutor means I need to pay attention to my students to know if they are absorbing the information or not. In fact, I can tell a lot about their state of mind without them having to speak at all.”

Bruce cocked his head. “Really?”

Jeremiah’s grin widened, his hands steepling before his face. “Yes. For example, when you walked into the room, I guessed that you had been in a rush while bathing today, as your hair was still sopping wet, to the point where it cascaded onto your shoulders. However, interestingly enough, instead of opting for the off-white toga you wore to our first session, today you’ve worn a patterned tunic underneath a toga of pure white.” Jeremiah stood, beginning to pace excitedly. “This could mean many things. It could mean nothing at all. Or,” Jeremiah lifted a finger, “it could be that you subconsciously are taking the lessons more seriously, and thus wanted to dress the part.”

“Or, it could be that you are dressing to impress.” Jeremiah abruptly sat back down, leveling a knowing smirk at Bruce. He crossed his legs. _Interesting._

Bruce huffed. “Why would I dress to impress you?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Who knows,” he said, palms out, “but I also don’t believe that scenario myself, if I’m being honest. Nothing in your character suggests you’d find utility in impressing others, seeing as you’re the heir to the throne and command respect as such. You’d prefer to let your merits speak for themselves.”

Bruce was astonished. “How could you glean so much about me after only two meetings?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “The wonders of learning philosophy. It shows us how we can deduce what people are thinking and feeling. And, I suppose some experience helps, too.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. How old are you, anyway?”

Jeremiah chuckled. “22. You truly hold nothing back, Your Highness.”

“My father considers you a prodigy, but the fact remains that you are still only around my age. Why would he insist on having me take a tutelage under you?”

Jeremiah leaned forward, head in one of his hands. “Perhaps he thought you’d be more receptive to someone your age.”

“Certainly he must know I value experience.”

“Do you? You sure have a way of showing it, with terminating lessons with all your previous tutors.” Jeremiah sat back, a smug grin on his face. “Judging by your reaction to me before, this is the first time you’ve had a tutor anywhere near your age.”

“If my father were trying to make me more receptive to tutoring, I’m surprised he didn’t ask Selina to be my tutor,” murmured Bruce.

Jeremiah looked down at his lap, smoothing out the tunic over his legs. “Hmm. I assume that’s your girlfriend, then?”

Bruce scoffed. “No way. My father’s been trying to hook us up for as long as I can remember. I don’t have time for that.”

Jeremiah stopped his ministrations, head slowly turning upward to meet Bruce’s eyes. “Have you…ever been with a girl before?”

“Ha, nope,” said Bruce. “Why bother? I have all the rest of my life to have the opportunity to bear an heir.”

Jeremiah cleared his throat, looking back down again at his lap. “I suppose so.”

“What about you?”

Jeremiah glanced back up. “I…no, I haven’t, either. I suppose that sort of thing is not for me, really.” He looked down at his nails.

“Surely you must have many who wish to be your suitor. You’re a tutor who’s a student of Cicero’s. Between all that, you must meet women regularly who wish to bed you."

Jeremiah laughed out loud at this. “I…well. I can’t say I’ve ever fallen in love with a woman. I believe the gods have cursed me with being incapable of that. My life would be…immeasurably easier if that were not the case.” Jeremiah stopped suddenly, leaning forward, hands on his knees. “Have you?”

Bruce cocked his head. “Have I what?”

Jeremiah smirked. “Have you ever fallen in love?”

“No.”

Jeremiah’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you ever have…I don’t know…fantasies? About being joined with someone for life? Or being physically joined, at the very least?” Jeremiah pressed his lips together, his tongue flicking out briefly to lick them.

Bruce wasn’t sure why his eyes followed Jeremiah’s sudden movement.

“Not really. Women are nice and all, but I don’t feel much towards them physically. I’ve just always been engrossed in my studies.”

Jeremiah nodded at this, stroking his chin as if in thought. “Hmm. Fascinating. Anyway, let’s begin our lesson on the schools of thought surrounding life’s meaning, shall we?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m ready.”

* * *

Hours later, Bruce was in his room, feet up on his reclining couch, when Alfred appeared in the overhang.

“Sir, I’ve brought you your dinner,” Alfred said.

Bruce looked over at him, contemplating.

Finally, he spoke up. “Alfred, please invite Jeremiah to dine with me tonight.”

Alfred’s eyes widened, then he nodded quickly. “Of course, sir. I’ll arrange for the trays to be taken to the dining table in the main hall.”

Bruce felt a smile pull at the corners of his lips. “Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce paused. “Wait. Please invite Father to dine with us as well, if he is free.”

Alfred bowed. “Consider it done.”

* * *

When Bruce arrived at the main hall, Jeremiah was already waiting for him.

“Your Highness,” he said, rising as Bruce entered the room.

Bruce nodded, taking a seat across from Jeremiah.

“Why not sit here?” asked Jeremiah, gesturing to the head seat of the table next to Jeremiah.

“That’s Father’s chair,” said Bruce.

“Ah. Of course.”

Alfred brought out two trays of food - grapes, bread, and chicken - and set them in front of Jeremiah and Bruce. Behind him, another servant brought out a loaf of bread.

“Your father says he will be with you momentarily - he’s finishing up his work now.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Alfred bowed lightly and took his leave.

Bruce and Jeremiah ate in relative silence for some time. Then, Bruce spoke up.

“I’ve been thinking about the schools of thought around what the goal of life is.”

Jeremiah perked up. “Have you?”

“Yes. I think I would personally identify as more of a Stoic. Virtue is, in my opinion, the highest ideal, to which we all should strive.”

“Called it,” said Jeremiah, smirking to himself.

“What about you?”

“Me? As in, where I fall in the schools of thought?”

“Yes.” Bruce leaned in, honestly curious.

“I suppose I lean more towards Peripatetic. I agree in some ways with the Stoics and with the Epicureans. I don’t think you have to choose between happiness and being a virtuous person. I think you can be happy while still pursuing a virtuous life.”

“Even so, I think I would rather be poor and uphold my virtues than have all the riches in the world and be cruel.”

Jeremiah nearly choked on his food. “Clearly you have never been poor, then.”

“Oh, and you have?”

Jeremiah didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes. Was born into it, in fact.”

Bruce was silent.

“I…”

“No. Don’t apologize,” said Jeremiah. “Though, knowing you, I highly doubt you were going to do that, anyway.”

“I was going to apologize for you having been born into it, but not for presuming you hadn’t.”

Jeremiah smiled. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m thankful to be out of poverty now.”

Bruce fell silent again, picking at his food.

Then, resounding footsteps approached.

“Father,” Bruce said.

Thomas came behind Bruce, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “My boy! What a pleasant surprise this is.” He took his seat at the head of the table.

“I thought company at dinner would be nice,” said Bruce.

Alfred brought along Thomas’s tray. “Here you are, my lord,” he said, bowing before leaving.

“Thank you, Alfred,” said Thomas, beginning to carve the meat.

“My lord, it is a pleasure to be seated with you for dinner,” said Jeremiah, standing and bowing low.

“No need for such theatrics, Jeremiah,” said Thomas. “As far as I’m concerned, you are family now.”

Jeremiah, for some reason that Bruce couldn’t fathom, looked over at Bruce and flushed, before sitting and turning back to his meal.

They ate in silence, until Alfred came back with a tray of wine goblets and a pitcher.

“As you requested, my lord,” said Alfred, placing the tray and pitcher in front of Thomas.

“Why, thank you, Alfred,” he said, as Alfred bowed and took his leave.

Thomas took the pitcher, pouring a generous amount into each glass and handing one to Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Father, I…”

Thomas waved dismissively. “My son, no need. This is a cause for celebration! You are coming of age, and more than worthy to partake in wine now.”

Bruce looked down. “I mean, it’s been so long since we…”

His father looked knowingly at him. “Yes.” He placed his hand over Bruce’s. “It’s wonderful to be using this table again. Your mother would be very happy and proud.”

Bruce stared intently at the bread on his plate, memorizing the patterns on it while willing his tears to sink back into his eyes.

His father mercifully released his hand.

“A toast!” Thomas declared, raising his goblet. Bruce and Jeremiah followed suit.

“To the new member of our family, Jeremiah; and to Bruce, for honoring the memory of my wife by having us break bread here for the first time since…” He trailed off, his hand holding the goblet beginning to shake. “And you, Bruce? What do you toast to?”

Bruce gave it some thought, wanting nothing more than to finish this sooner rather than later. And yet…

Clearly, this made his father happy.

_I think you can be happy while still pursuing a virtuous life._

“To my father, the bravest and smartest man I know. And, to Jeremiah…” Bruce paused. Jeremiah looked on expectantly, pinning Bruce down with his inquisitive gaze.

“To Jeremiah, for teaching me things I thought I already knew, but really didn’t know at all.”

Jeremiah cracked a smile at this.

“And you, Jeremiah?” Thomas asked.

Jeremiah tore his eyes away from Bruce to look over at Thomas. “To the glorious Caesar, for taking me in as one of his own. And to his son,” he paused, turning back to Bruce, “for being willing to endure being taught such _frivolous _subjects.”

Bruce broke into a wide grin, raising his goblet to touch Jeremiah’s before taking a sip.

* * *

“Well, boys, I take my leave for the evening. Tomorrow is a busy day for me, and I’ll need all the rest I can get to prepare for tomorrow.”

Bruce looked up at this. “Why? What’s going on tomorrow?”

His father smiled, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. “It’s a secret. But let’s just say, years of digging has finally led me somewhere, and after tomorrow, I can rest easily as emperor knowing that the Republic is safe and secure.”

Bruce nodded. “Of course. Good night, Father.”

Jeremiah stood, nodding to Thomas. “My lord.”

Thomas strode over to Jeremiah, clapping a hand on his shoulder, without releasing his hold on Bruce’s. “Good night, my sons. Sleep well.”

Once he left, Jeremiah sat down again. “How are you feeling, Your Highness?”

Bruce swallowed. “I, uh…” _Wow, was it hot in here?_ “I’m feeling good.”

Jeremiah flashed a grin at him. “Wonderful. More wine?” He gestured towards the pitcher.

Bruce had already gone through a goblet full of wine, but hey, why not partake of some more?

“Sure,” said Bruce, lazily putting his head in his hand. Jeremiah laughed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” said Jeremiah, pouring more wine into Bruce’s goblet. “You’re very clearly wine-drunk.”

Bruce huffed. “Not true! Besides, this is my first time, so.”

Jeremiah giggled. “…So, what?”

“That’s just it. So.”

Jeremiah sat back, trying to suppress laughter as he poured himself more wine. “Your Highness, you’re truly something else.”

“Please. Call me Bruce.”

Jeremiah, on his way to taking a sip of his wine, stopped mid-air.

“Are…are you sure?”

Bruce giggled. A rare moment of insecurity from Jeremiah.

“It’s not insecurity!” _Oh shit, had he said that out loud?_ “I just…I’m so used to calling you Your Highness, for as long as I can remember. Calling you Bruce almost seems…” He trailed off.

“Intimate?” Bruce finished, a smirk splayed across his face. His face was hurting from smiling so much, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, or to stop.

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “I…well…yes.”

“What’s wrong with that?” By now, Bruce was leaning over the table, elbows supporting his hands supporting his head, dying to know what caused Jeremiah to get so flustered.

A series of reactions were pulled from Jeremiah. First, Jeremiah pursed his lips, then shook his head. Then he looked down at his lap, and his chest began heaving with laughter.

“What is it?” Bruce nearly whined, feeling left out of some inside joke.

Jeremiah looked back up at Bruce, but this time with an intensity that caught Bruce’s breath.

“You. Just you, Bruce.” Jeremiah mirrored Bruce’s stance, cradling his head with one hand while drawing shapes on the table with his finger between he and Bruce.

“What about me?”

“You… will be the death of me, I swear it,” said Jeremiah, one side of his mouth lifting.

Bruce frowned. “No. I would never allow that to happen.”

“Mmm.” Jeremiah hummed. “It could be a physical death…or a spiritual one, perhaps.”

Bruce giggled. “Jeremiah -”

“Miah,” said Jeremiah. “Please. If I call you Bruce, please call me Miah.”

“Fine. Miah,” said Bruce, “you are so cryptic.”

Jeremiah scoffed. “Hardly. You’re just naive.”

Bruce pouted. “Isn’t it your job to change that?”

Jeremiah’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Jeremiah’s finger traced along the divets in the dining room table, grooves worked into the wood by ancestors of long, long ago. Bruce followed where it led. Sometimes, he would get close to touching Bruce’s elbow, but just as soon as it came, he would move his finger away, following the lines in the wood again.

Bruce sighed, looking up at Jeremiah. Jeremiah locked eyes with him, giving him that same look from earlier - his eyes oscillating between both of Bruce’s, almost as if he were looking for something.

Bruce wondered to himself if he found it.

Jeremiah abruptly sat back. “Bruce, I am unhappy. You are entirely too far from me.”

Bruce grinned, standing up slowly as he stepped around the table towards Jeremiah. “What happened to your balance between happiness and virtue?”

A sly smile crept onto Jeremiah’s face as he followed Bruce’s gaze. “I think, in this case, they are one and the same.”

“How so?” One step.

“Would you not call it innately virtuous to be recognized by someone who is the epitome of virtue and nobleness?”

“I don’t quite follow.” Another step.

Jeremiah squinted. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” A smirk leered back. Another step.

Jeremiah heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, though without malice. “It’s you, Bruce.”

Bruce halted his progress. Wait, really?

“Yes, really,” said Jeremiah. _Shit, he’d said it out loud again, hadn’t he?_

Finally - _finally_ \- Bruce took a seat beside Jeremiah, and laid an elbow on the table, once again cradling his head with his hand.

“I don’t consider myself any more virtuous or noble than any of the other statesmen in the empire, let alone my father.”

Jeremiah turned to face him. “Your father might be an exception. But regardless, the fact remains that politics tends to result in compromising virtue.”

Bruce scowled. “I’m still not sure how you know so much about this, other than through secondhand knowledge from Cicero.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “I trust him with my life. There’s a reason why he is no longer in politics.”

Bruce fell silent, unsure how to respond.

Jeremiah gave him a soft smile. “So, Bruce.”

“Yes?”

“You really aren’t into women?”

Bruce groaned. “Ugh. I’m not sure. I’ve just never felt attracted to one.”

Jeremiah hummed. “What about men?”

“What about them?”

Jeremiah turned toward the table, giggling a bit. “You are truly so, so innocent, Bruce.”

“Wait, are you saying…?”

“Yes, Bruce. It’s possible for men to feel attracted to other men.”

Bruce looked down. “I guess I never thought about it before.”

“It’s okay,” said Jeremiah. “Not everybody knows it exists. But trust me, it exists.”

Bruce met Jeremiah’s eyes. “How do you know it exists?”

Jeremiah looked downward, blowing air through his lips. “Bruce, I’m not sure you want to know.”

Bruce leaned forward, trying to look Jeremiah in the eyes. “Please, Miah? You said you would teach me and help me be less naive.”

Jeremiah leaned his forehead into his palm, his eyes squeezed shut.

Bruce was mildly concerned. Then, he looked up suddenly at Bruce.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. On one condition.”

Bruce felt a tug from somewhere deep within him. “Name it.”

Jeremiah plucked a grape from his tray. “You have to eat this grape.”

“That’s it? Alright.” Bruce made to pluck the grape from Jeremiah’s grasp, but Jeremiah leaned back. Bruce squirmed to retrieve it from him.

“No, no, no, not like that,” said Jeremiah. “I get to feed it to you.”

Bruce stilled. _Oh._

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to do this,” Jeremiah said hurriedly, backing away. “I was just teasing. We can just go back to talking, if you want.”

Bruce shook his head furiously. “No. I want to.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, of course. Just feed it to me!”

“Okay, okay, I was just making sure you’re on board.” With that, Jeremiah lifted the grape up to Bruce’s mouth.

Bruce opened his mouth, but nothing happened.

“I don’t want you to choke,” said Jeremiah. “It would make me feel better if you met me halfway. Like, used your teeth to grab it from me.”

“Okay.” Bruce leaned forward, his lips grazing Jeremiah’s fingers as he used his teeth to grip the grape and pull it into his mouth.

_Wow_, Bruce thought. Jeremiah was surprisingly warm to the touch.

“There. Did it. Now you have to tell me how you know!”

Jeremiah sighed, but not in a sardonic way. He actually seemed…_torn_.

“What’s wrong, Miah?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Nothing, nothing! I just hope and pray to the gods that I am not punished in the afterlife for this.”

“Why would you be punished? You’re just answering a question.”

Jeremiah breathed out a shaky laugh. “This easily could get me killed.”

“No. I already said I refuse to let that happen.”

Jeremiah looked down, and then back up to Bruce again. “Okay, okay. But first, you have to feed me a grape.”

Bruce whined. “You promised you would answer the question!”

“Bruce, feeding me the grape will give you the answer to your question.” Jeremiah looked serious.

This was…_wow_. The gravity of this situation felt almost stifling.

But Bruce wanted to know.

“Alright, fine.” Bruce plucked a grape from Jeremiah’s plate, leaning over him as he did so. Warmth radiated from Jeremiah’s chest, and his face suddenly felt warm.

Bruce pulled back. “Okay, so just like before?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you halfway.”

Bruce lifted the grape to Jeremiah’s mouth. Jeremiah took it between his teeth, and Bruce felt warm lips enveloping his fingers, and as the grape left them, a light swipe of the tongue against the pad of his finger.

Jeremiah pulled back slightly, chewing delicately on the grape. Bruce made to pull away his finger, but quick as a snake, Jeremiah snatched his wrist, locking it in place where it had been before.

“What - “ Bruce floundered.

“Do you still want to know the answer to the question?” A tight grip on his wrist. Bruce idly noted that Jeremiah’s hand fully encircled his wrist. _Interesting._

“Yes.”

Jeremiah scrutinized him. “Are you sure? It’s okay if you don’t want to know.”

Bruce stomped his foot. “Of course I want to know!”

“Bruce, I…” Jeremiah paused. “I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

Warm puffs of air from Jeremiah’s mouth heated up his fingers.

“I want to know. I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. When have I not?”

Jeremiah leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Bruce’s fingertips. “That’s true. You always have.”

“See, told y-” Bruce gasped as Jeremiah drew Bruce’s finger into his mouth, slowly sucking it in, white-hot heat and velvety wetness enveloping him. Jeremiah’s tongue pressed against his fingertip, then slowly slid up towards his second knuckle.

All the while, Jeremiah moaned softly around his finger. The combination of the vibration, the suction, the wetness, and the heat was positively overwhelming.

Jeremiah looked completely in ecstasy, eyes closed as he drew Bruce’s finger further into his mouth. Then, his eyes flashed open, pinning Bruce down with a smoldering gaze.

As soon as it had started, however, it was over, Jeremiah pulling away, a silken ribbon of saliva threaded between Jeremiah’s lips and Bruce’s finger, refusing to break.

It took Bruce about a full minute to realize he had been panting.

“Bruce, are you okay?” Jeremiah looked genuinely concerned.

“Y-yeah,” said Bruce.

“How did it feel?”

“Uh…a lot.”

Something unreadable passed by in Jeremiah’s eyes. “Like, a lot but it was good, or a lot and it was bad?”

“It was…good. I think.”

Jeremiah’s lips pulled up slightly. “Were you thinking about anything during it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like?”

“I…I don’t know. But I wanted more. I don’t know of what, but I wanted more.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened, mouth slightly agape.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah’s hand, still encircling Bruce’s wrist, was shaking. “Would you like to see my room?”


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce turned over and shot up suddenly, nearly falling off his reclining couch.

As he steadied himself on the edge, Bruce looked around. He was in his own room, the only light coming from the moon, high in the sky. 

Suddenly, a searing pain bloomed at the back of his head, causing him to fall face-down into the couch again. 

_What the hell is this pain?_

Then, he remembered the wine. 

_What happened to your balance between happiness and virtue?…I think, in this case, they are one and the same…You have to eat this grape…I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do._

Bruce moaned into the fabric on the couch. Why was this his life?

And what the hell happened after dinner, anyway?

Bruce stood, edging toward the entrance to his room. 

Jeremiah had wanted to show him his room…but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where it was. 

Huffing, Bruce threw himself back onto the reclining couch. 

He was parched, but more than that, he was exhausted, so he didn’t bother hailing for Alfred for a drink. 

Before he closed his eyes, he raised his index finger, looking curiously at it as he drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

“Bruce? Bruce! BRUCE!” 

Bruce opened his eyes to find Alfred in his face, shaking him by the shoulders.

Daylight was streaming into his room, making Bruce want to shut his eyes again, but something caught his eye.

Red was streaked all over the front of Alfred’s uniform.

_Could it be?_

“Bruce! Wake up! Your father - he - “

Bruce darted off the couch and ran out of his room, down the hall toward where his father stayed.

A single, red drop was all the warning Bruce got before rounding the corner into his father’s room and finding his father’s body, surrounded by a pool of blood.

Bruce nearly gagged. Thomas was slumped up against the table by his reclining couch, shoulders hunched slightly, legs splayed out in front of him.

And where his head would have normally been, slumped like his shoulders were, Bruce found nothing.

The smell was wretched, and Bruce turned back into the hallway, bending forward with his hands on his knees.

“Bruce - _hah_ \- are you - _hah_,” Alfred gasped out, out of breath from running after Bruce.

Bruce glanced up at Alfred from behind his lashes before turning back to the grisly scene.

This time, his eyes landed on his father’s head, which was sitting upright on his couch.

Prominently displayed.

_A clean cut._

Bruce sprinted back down the hall to his room, white noise drowning out all else.

When he reached his room, he headed to the back corner. His reading corner.

It had been a long time since he’d tried this. Since his mother’s passing, actually.

Perhaps it was time for a second try. 

Bruce stared at the corner where the two wall slabs met. He backed up a bit, giving himself enough room for a running start.

As he turned around to check his distance, he saw Alfred and Jeremiah.

Time slowed to a crawl. Alfred was flailing his arms, shouting something at Bruce that he couldn’t quite hear. 

Jeremiah was behind him, eyes open wide, mouth aghast.

Bruce faced the corner again, ducked his head, and ran, head-first.

The next thing he knew, all was black.

* * *

Somewhere, close but not close enough, voices whispered.

Bruce felt his eyes move in their sockets, as if they were wanting to roll back. 

These two observations led him to believe he was still alive, which was…_interesting_.

A surprise, to be sure.

Bruce was still debating on if it was an unwelcome one when the voices fell silent.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered open, granting him a view of the roof. It didn’t appear to be that of his room.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, and then reopened them. Still the same roof.

“Bruce?” A tentative voice reached out.

Bruce sat up slightly, but then was pushed back down.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said the same voice. _Wait, was that…?_

“Be careful, Jeremiah.” Alfred, then.

“He shouldn’t be moving. He needs rest.” 

A hand reached toward his face. Bruce instinctively flinched and blinked, but the hand fell lax against his cheek.

“Can you hear me, Bruce?” 

Bruce nodded. 

Infuriatingly, Bruce could see neither Jeremiah nor Alfred. He made to sit up again, but was shoved by his shoulder back onto the cushion.

“No, Bruce. Lie still.” Finally, Jeremiah stepped into his field of vision. 

“Miah - ” A firm squeeze on his shoulder was all the warning he had before a finger was pressed to his lips.

“Don’t talk. Rest.” Jeremiah’s expression was severe.

Bruce was more than happy to close his eyes again, especially with the comfort of the hand sliding back onto his cheek.

He fell back asleep to the sensation of a thumb caressing his cheekbone.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce’s eyes fluttered open, and he woke with a start.

He was back in his room, judging by the ceiling above him. _Thank the gods for that._

The table beside him contained a tray of strawberries.

His stomach turned. 

Bruce looked around the room. Nothing appeared to be out of place, which was surprising considering he was, at some point, taken to a different room altogether.

A knock on the wall tore him away from his thoughts. Looking over, Bruce saw Alfred, balancing a tray of bread and grapes.

“Sir, I have brought you some more to eat. May I bring it to you?”

Bruce looked back at the table containing the strawberries.

Alfred must have entered his room at some point to deposit the tray.

Bruce nodded. Alfred strode quickly over to him, laying the tray down on the table next to the strawberries before retreating back to the overhang.

“How are you feeling?”

Bruce looked down at his lap.

“I’m alive.”

Alfred smiled. “And what a blessing from the gods that is.” A pause. “May I come closer?”

Bruce nodded.

Alfred knelt down next to Bruce, head level with Bruce’s chest. “I cannot imagine the pain you are suffering through. Unspeakably horrible doesn’t come close to covering it, I’m sure. But sir, I want to let you know that I am here for you. You’re not alone.”

Bruce stared at his knees, a deep hollowness making a home in his chest.

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate that.”

Alfred nodded. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a guardsman be present outside your room at all times. I hope you understand.”

Bruce made a noise of assent, but didn’t look up.

“And I’m not the only one who is here for you. Jeremiah has expressed deep concern about - “

“No.” Bruce raised his head, meeting Alfred’s eyes.

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Please tell Jeremiah that while I am touched by his concern, he is not welcome in my room, or in my presence, for the foreseeable future.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. Then, he nodded profusely. “Y-yes sir. I will inform him as such.”

“Thank you.” Bruce pursed his lips. “Please also inform him that I am to be addressed as his highness or his lord, and that I will not tolerate any informal usage of my name or title.”

“Of course, sir.” Alfred paused. “Shall I ask him to leave the palace?”

Bruce sighed. “No. My father was kind enough to grant him a room; I will not revoke such kindness yet.”

“As you wish.” Alfred leaned in close. “May I ask why he is no longer permitted to be in your presence?”

Bruce massaged his browline with his fingertips, heaving a sigh. “He…he and I…”

_You will be the death of me, I swear it…Bruce, I am unhappy. You are entirely too far from me...It’s you, Bruce…_

“He has proved to be distracting me from the important work I have as our republic’s future Emperor. My father’s killer is out there, and I must waste no time or effort in bringing him to justice. Jeremiah’s services are not required for the time being.”

Alfred nodded. “Very good, sir. I will inform him of your stipulations.”

“Thank you, Alfred. You may take leave.”

Without another word, Alfred left, and Bruce resumed his position on his back, staring up at his ceiling.

* * *

Day after day, Alfred would bring food to Bruce, and each time, he would return with the tray full of the previous meal’s contents. 

Bruce was content to lie still, either sleeping or contemplating the ridges on the ceiling above him.

Food was abhorrent to him. His stomach would grumble, but he felt no need to refuel his body.

Under constant watch by the guardsman outside his room, Bruce felt mild annoyance, but nothing else, as he stared up with an expressionless face.

Alfred would try to goad him into eating, but he refused, simply waving Alfred away, never moving from his reclined position.

Alfred would, once daily, ask the same question.

“When would you like to proceed with the funeral arrangements, my lord?”

Bruce, with a dismissive wave of his hand, made no effort to answer.

Occasionally, Alfred would bring him other news.

“Sir, Jeremiah has requested your presence once more. He says he - “

“No.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Bruce didn’t bother correcting Alfred on his return to formalizing Bruce’s title. 

Very little mattered to him anymore, least of all that.

* * *

After four days, Bruce finally spoke, still unmoving from his position facing the ceiling.

“Alfred.”

“Yes, my lord?”

Bruce made eye contact with Alfred for the first time in days.

“Why was there blood on your uniform?”

Alfred exhaled shakily. “When I discovered your father’s body, I shook him violently, pleading with him to awaken, even while knowing his head rested on the bed.” He gestured to his chest. “I hugged him, trying to feel the pulse of life within him. I could not feel it. That is how his blood got onto my uniform.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Silence fell between them.

Bruce sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. He grit his teeth - soreness permeated his aching body from lack of movement.

“How was it cut off?”

Alfred straightened. “We’re not sure, but we suppose a sword would be the most effective weapon.”

“So the weapon was never found?”

“No, sir.”

Bruce sighed. “Where is his body?”

“It is being prepared for cremation as we speak, but the cremation has not occurred yet.” Alfred paused. “Would you like to see it?”

“No.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“Do we know who did it?”

“No, my lord. The three guardsmen on the north side of the palace were all found slain that morning, as well. We believe someone brute-forced their way to his quarters.”

Bruce laid back down, hands joined over his belly.

“One last thing, Alfred.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Has the room been cleaned?”

“Yes, my lord. The north side entranceway has also been cleaned.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Alfred. You may take your leave now.”

As Alfred left the room, Bruce let his eyes fall shut, hoping to rid himself of the image of his father’s lifeless body slumped against his bedside table.

* * *

The next day, Alfred arrived with breakfast.

When he entered, Bruce woke with a start, sitting ramrod-straight and wheeling around to look at Alfred.

“Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well last night.”

Bruce gave a curt nod. “Yes, I did.”

Alfred placed the tray on the table, and Bruce reached out for a strawberry resting on the tray.

As Bruce took a bite, Alfred grinned.

“Very good, sir.”

* * *

Later on, Alfred brought bread and water for Bruce.

Bruce drained the goblet within seconds, and Alfred leapt up to retrieve a pitcher of water from the kitchen.

When Alfred returned, the three loaves of bread were gone.

“Alfred.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Make preparations for the funeral in three days’ time. Perform cremation on my father’s body, and send word to the Praetorian Guard to deliver all soldiers in reserve to the capital by the morning of for the funeral procession.”

“Of course, sir.” A pause. “Sir, if I may, I have here a letter from Jeremiah that he asked me to deliver to you.” Alfred reached into the folds of his toga and retrieved a scroll.

_Of course_, thought Bruce. _He figured out a way to circumnavigate the presence rule._

“Place it near my books,” said Bruce. “I will read it later.”

“As you wish, my lord.” 

Bruce smirked. He had no plans on ever reading it.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Alfred came bearing another scroll from Jeremiah.

“Please set it by my books,” said Bruce. Alfred set it gingerly on top of the one from the day before.

“Alfred, before you leave…”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Would you be free tonight to accompany me to my father’s room?”

Alfred stilled. “Sir, are you certain you wish to visit your father’s quarters?”

“It has been cleansed of him, has it not?”

“Yes.” Alfred gulped. “If you’re certain…”

“I am.” Bruce stood up for the first time in five days, picking at his toga. “Please draw me a bath, Alfred. I must positively reek.”

Alfred chuckled. “Of course.”

* * *

As twilight arrived, Bruce heard a knock.

“My lord, I’m at your command to take you to your father’s room, whenever it so pleases you.” Alfred bowed slightly, hands behind his back, a stern look on his face.

Bruce inhaled deeply. The choice to visit the room in which his father had passed on to the afterlife was mostly motivated by a sense of needing closure, after being bedridden for five days.

He also wanted to see if there was anything to be learned by looking at the room once more. Perhaps a clue to the perpetrator, or to how they were able to commit such an atrocity without being noticed.

Bruce rose, striding across the room to Alfred.

“Ready, my lord?”

Bruce nodded. “Ready as I will ever be, Alfred.”

They walked side-by-side as they turned left out of the room. 

Bruce took slow steps, still getting used to the feeling of walking and using his legs again after days of no movement. Blessedly, Alfred matched his pace.

They walked past the posted guardsman just outside of Bruce’s room. Bruce gave him a curt nod in acknowledgment.

As they walked, Bruce couldn’t help but feel mildly claustrophobic. Before his father passed on to the afterlife, the hallways were fairly clear of guardsmen. His father had always liked some privacy, and they didn’t require much in the way of servants, so their house staff was quite small in number.

Now, though, there were armed guardsmen lining the halls every twenty feet. 

Suddenly, Bruce stopped in his tracks.

“My lord?” Alfred looked concerned.

“Alfred, is there any way we can ensure Jeremiah will not be joining us?”

“I have taken the liberty of telling the guardsman outside his room to make sure he stays there until you are back in your room. I’ve ensured that he be accompanied at all times should he leave his quarters, but I have also forbidden him from leaving his room except to bathe, so as to respect your wishes of not seeing him.”

Bruce winced a bit, guilt settling into his bones. But he nodded his approval.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“My pleasure. Shall we continue?”

They resumed their walk, passing by the study his father often frequented when he needed some much-needed alone time to process the day’s Senate proceedings. 

Bruce kept walking, determined to not focus on such matters when he had a job to do.

He and Alfred finally arrived at the room, but before reaching the overhang, Alfred turned to him.

“My lord, if this is too difficult for you…”

“No,” said Bruce. “I am doing what is necessary to bring a swift end to this mystery surrounding my father’s death.”

Alfred led Bruce through the overhang into his father’s quarters. There, it was clear that the furniture had been rearranged slightly in order for the cleaning to proceed. Not a spot of blood was present, but the fabric on the bed had been changed out.

Bruce sighed heavily, remembering what his father’s body had looked like as it was slumped against the bedside table.

Bruce entered the room through the threshold, heading to the corner where his father’s books were stored. He glanced around, his fingers brushing against the backs of the books. 

Titles of politics, of logic, of philosophy, of writing, filled his shelves. 

Alfred coughed. “My lord, there’s something I need to show you.”

Alfred pulled from the folds of his toga a scroll.

Bruce looked over, taking the scroll from Alfred.

“This is something your father asked me to give to you in the event that he would not be able to give it to you himself.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” said Bruce. He tucked it into the folds of his toga to read later.

Bruce paced around the room, determining what, if anything, could be learned from his father’s quarters.

“Alfred?” asked Bruce.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Who would have access to my father during the night?”

Alfred paused. “Any number of guardsmen employed by him, your grace, as well as you, myself, and perhaps Jeremiah. But I am not sure if he knows where exactly your father’s room is.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

Alfred continued. “It’s likely that it was someone outside of the palace who entered through brute force. Otherwise, we would not have seen such bloodshed outside at the north entrance.”

Bruce gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “I see.”

Bruce glanced back up at Alfred. “I think I am done for today, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded. “Would you like to be accompanied back to your room, my lord?”

“Yes, if you would be so kind, Alfred.”

“Anything for you, my lord.”

* * *

The next day, Bruce found it difficult to awaken and rise from sleep.

It was the day before his father’s funeral procession.

“My lord, I have for you another letter from Jeremiah,” said Alfred, taking care to not walk through the overhang into Bruce’s room.

Bruce huffed. “I’ll take it, Alfred. Thank you.” Bruce strode over and retrieved the scroll from him.

“Sir, if I may, we do need to have you fitted for tomorrow’s procession.”

Bruce nodded. “Let’s get started, then.”

* * *

As Alfred measured around Bruce’s shoulders, he broke the silence.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, my lord. Have you read Jeremiah’s letters? Please forgive me for any intrusion of privacy, your grace.”

Bruce waved dismissively. “It’s fine. To be frank, I have not.”

Alfred hummed.

“I can’t help but notice that you have been remarkably silent about him.”

Bruce shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

“Perhaps how you feel he has distracted you, yet you have yet to evict him from the palace, your grace.”

Bruce scowled. “He is here because my father ordained him to be. My father might be…might be…in the afterlife, but that does not mean I will abandon those he has deemed worthy of staying here.”

Alfred didn’t answer, stepping away slightly to measure across Bruce’s shoulder blades. 

Then, Alfred spoke again.

“How has he distracted you, my lord? I am happy to inform him of how he can be of service to you without bothering you.”

Bruce smiled. “I appreciate that, Alfred.” Then, he sighed. “I…I don’t think that’s something you can help with, unfortunately.”

“Try me,” said Alfred. Bruce laughed.

“Have you ever met someone whom you can’t get rid of? From your thoughts, that is.”

Alfred stepped back to retrieve a billowing piece of fabric, of royal purple hue.

“Well, I have tended to you, your father, and your mother for many years now. You’re never far from my thoughts.”

“I suppose so,” Bruce said. “Do you ever wish that weren’t so?”

“I worry about your welfare, most certainly. And sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities bestowed upon me - of course, those moments are few and far between, my lord.”

Bruce sighed. It felt like they were having two different conversations.

“Maybe I’m not explaining it properly.”

Alfred nodded. “Feel free to elaborate, sir.” He pulled the purple silken fabric over Bruce’s shoulders, tying it in the front under Bruce’s chin.

“Perhaps I am unaccustomed to being around someone my own age, but I often find myself wishing to spend more time with him, when I should be focusing on my studies and preparing for becoming Caesar.”

“You _are_ Caesar, my lord. And what you choose to do with your time is now completely up to you.”

Bruce lowered his head. “I can scarcely believe I’m Caesar now. For so long I have wanted to please my father and prove to him I can rule. But I never wanted it like this.”

“I know, my lord.” Alfred adjusted the fabric billowing out behind Bruce, allowing it to spill onto the floor. 

Bruce was silent for a long time. 

* * *

The following day, Bruce was awakened by the sunlight pouring into his room.

He turned over, wanting nothing more than to sleep again, but knew that today, of all days, he would need to be prepared, physically and mentally.

He rose, heading to his manservant’s quarters to begin preparations for the procession.

* * *

A flurry of activity surrounded Bruce, as servants and guardsmen scurried past, ready to accompany him to the horse-drawn cart waiting outside with the procession.

Then, Alfred appeared, carrying a golden crown; a wreath of leaves painted over, shimmering at every angle the light touched.

“My lord, I have your headpiece. Shall I put it on for you?”

Bruce swallowed.

“Yes, you may.”

As Alfred fitted it atop his head, Bruce looked pointedly away, not meeting Alfred’s eyes.

“Sir, have you thought about your speech?”

Oh, yes. _That._ Bruce had honestly forgotten.

He didn’t answer.

Apparently, that was all the answer Alfred needed, as he drew back and retrieved a scroll from his toga.

“In case you need any assistance, I have here a short message, in your father’s memory, for you to say to the Senate and to the citizens of the republic who are gathered.”

Bruce was aghast. “Why, thank you, Alfred.” He took the scroll, pocketing it as Alfred adjusted Bruce’s royal attire.

Alfred held up a handheld mirror, made of bronze.

“My lord, what do you think?”

Bruce took the mirror, angling it to see how he looked with the crown paired with his funerary outfit.

He wore a tunic, a royal purple velvet fabric with gold embroidering. The sleeves billowed out slightly, with gold speckled like stars along them. His toga was a true gold, matching his crown and the gold embroidering on his tunic. 

Bruce looked away, swallowing something hard begging to be let out of his throat.

“It is good. Thank you.”

Alfred nodded, turning away to busy himself with the other servants getting ready for the procession.

* * *

Bruce was led outside by Alfred and six guardsmen to the cart awaiting them. The horses whinnied, rebelling against the tight hold the coachman had on them.

“Sir, if it pleases you, we will now head down to the capital.” 

The Praetorian Guard was lined up along the sides of the road as far as the eye could see. Along with the six guardsmen accompanying him and the coachman in the cart, a procession of fifty guardsmen flanked the cart. 

Bruce gulped. 

“Of course, Alfred.” He stepped up into the cart.

“Oh, and one last thing.” Alfred looked behind him, as if ensuring he wouldn’t be heard. “What of Jeremiah? Shall he remain here at the palace?”

Bruce looked out into the distance.

“This procession is in memory of my father. He would want Jeremiah to be here.” 

His father had called Jeremiah his son.

They were _brothers_. _Family_.

“Of course, sir. Where would you like him?”

“Out of my sight. Please place him far behind the procession. Be sure to have him accompanied by a guardsman.”

“Consider it done, my lord.”

Bruce gave a curt nod to Alfred before the coachman pulled on the reins, urging the horses onward to the heart of the city.

* * *

The sea of masses along the edges of the road made Bruce dizzy. 

As the horses pressed onward, the wheels on the cart occasionally catching on grooves in the road, Bruce felt himself dissociating from all that was unfolding around him.

Guardsmen and citizens alike blurred into one singular crowd. 

Bruce felt numb.

* * *

On the steps of the Senate, the Roman senators and elite gathered to pay respects to the memory of Thomas Wayne.

The crowd went eerily silent as the presiding Speaker of the Senate stepped down to the clearing where Bruce was waiting in the cart.

Bruce could only guess he was the Speaker. The silver toga draped across a light blue tunic stood out among the other senators, who were mostly clad in red tunics and white togas. 

“Your Highness,” said the man, bowing low to the ground as he approached Bruce’s cart.

Bruce found it unusual that the man’s black hair was trimmed to be just long enough to cascade across his forehead, but short enough to not fall into his eyes.

It looked like too much maintenance and upkeep to be worth the trouble. And just for hair, no less. Bruce could not relate in the _slightest_.

Bruce gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

“Please allow me to introduce myself. Oswald Cobblepot, presiding Speaker of the Senate.” Oswald downright _smirked_. “Your father told me much about you. An utter shame it is that I would have to meet you this way.”

Logically, nothing Oswald said was out of impropriety.

But logical as his response was, Bruce felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

“Likewise.” 

The smirk on Oswald’s face died instantly. He drew from his toga a scroll.

“If it pleases you, Your Highness, I would like to say a few words in your father’s name.”

Bruce nodded.

Oswald began addressing the crowd and the gathering of senators, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to be fully present in the proceedings.

* * *

Oswald, now finished, turned back to Bruce.

“And now, I believe our beloved Caesar has some words he would like to share in his father’s memory.”

Oswald’s lips curled up as he walked back up the steps of the Senate, giving the floor to Bruce.

Bruce closed his eyes briefly, willing away the tears that threatened to fall.

Then, he took out the scroll that Alfred had given him earlier. 

He had yet to read it or recite it. 

Bruce sighed heavily, and then cleared his throat as he unfurled the scroll.

“Thank you, one and all, for your gracious showings of love and affection for my father.” Wow, Alfred really had a flair for the sentimental, didn’t he? “I know, in the depths of my soul, he is looking on from his place in the afterlife with pride and the utmost joy.”

Bruce drew a shaky breath, silently grateful he hadn’t looked this over before now.

“He joins my mother at her side at last, and I know that he has found true solace in reuniting with his true love and forever companion.”

Bruce had to look down briefly to swallow the lump that had crept up in his throat. 

“My father loved Rome while he walked the earth, and he loves it even still. He would happily lay down his life tenfold to preserve the purity and goodness of this great republic. He will forever be missed as the great unifier and facilitator of goodwill among the Roman citizens and senators, the likes of which have never been seen before, and might never be seen again.”

Bruce paused, reading the next line.

He choked as the lump in his throat traveled upward.

“I will…I will…” Bruce’s eyes stung with tears. “I will never let a day go by without thinking of him, and all he has done for this great land. May he…h-he…” Bruce sniffled. “May he take comfort in knowing I will give all that is in my soul to carry on his legacy of justice and boundless compassion.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared down, the scroll slipping out of his grasp. The wind picked it up and it skittered across the ground, circling about the steps of the Senate.

A cacophony of applause and cheers erupted around him, but Bruce couldn’t hear it amidst the pounding of his heart in his chest.

* * *

The rest of the proceedings were a blur. Music and dancers filled the square, celebrating the life of the former ruler, but Bruce paid it no mind.

As the procession headed back out of the capital, Bruce kept his eyes forward, jaw slightly clenched.

Then, the horses in the front bucked up, and a man rushed from in front of them to the side of the cart.

“My lord,” panted the man, “I wanted to pay my respects to the former Caesar, who - “

“Guards!” A Praetorian guardsman shouted, and all at once the man was surrounded by ten guards wielding spears.

Bruce raised his hand, and immediately the guards stepped back, spears faced away from the man.

“Who are you?” Bruce was honestly curious. Whoever was brash enough to jump in front of horses to grab his attention certainly merited a second glance.

“James Gordon, my lord,” said the man, bowing low. “Your father freed me from bondage, and I owe my life to him.”

“I see.” Bruce was ready to continue his journey back to the palace when the man looked side-to-side, seeming suddenly sheepish.

“Your Highness, if it were not for your father, I would have died many years ago, as a gladiator in the Colosseum. Your father, the great Caesar, rewarded my tenacity and prowess in the arena with freedom from captivity.” He fell to his knees, his blond hair parting slightly in the wind. “My life was given back to me by your father, and I pledge to you my undying loyalty in return.”

Bruce swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

“Your loyalty is noted. But my father would want the people of Rome to be freed from their debts, both financial and spiritual.” Wow, he was really starting to pick up Alfred’s turns of phrase. “Pledge yourself instead to uplifting those in Rome who lack the opportunities you and I have been bestowed.”

James nodded fiercely. “Of course, my lord! Thank you!” He got up from his position on the ground, bowed low again, and ducked back into the crowd, the guards parting to allow him through.

As the cart pulled forward again, Bruce found himself wishing he had been there when his father had freed this man from the chains of indentured servitude.

* * *

Once Bruce arrived back at the palace, he flopped down unceremoniously onto the reclining couch in his room.

“Sir, would you be requiring anything before I retire for the night?” Alfred’s voice wafted in through the overhang.

“No,” said Bruce, shaking his head. “Thank you, Alfred, for all you have done for me today.”

“It is my duty and pleasure, my lord.”

Bruce inhaled. “Alfred, you may address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’. Formalities such as those between us are not necessary.” He smiled. “Those other titles sound so foreign when you say them.”

Alfred huffed out a laugh. “Of course, sir. I couldn’t say I was accustomed to them, myself.”

“I was highly impressed by your writing skills. The eulogy was brief, yet moving.”

Alfred bowed his head. “If I may be candid, Master Bruce?”

“You may.”

“I cannot take credit for writing such prose.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Then who wrote it?”

Alfred looked up at Bruce, a smile playing along his lips. “Why, Jeremiah did.”

Bruce sat back, eyes wide.

“If you no longer require me, sir, I will retire for the night.” Alfred’s smile didn’t waiver a bit.

“Of course, Alfred.” Bruce looked out into the distance, lost in thought. “Thank you.”

As Alfred left, Bruce’s eyes wandered to the letters resting by his book collection.

He got up, striding over to them.

Hands shaking, he took hold of the first scroll, and slowly unfurled it to reveal its contents.


	6. Chapter 6

A knock on the wall broke Bruce from his thoughts. 

He set down Jeremiah’s third letter from his place on the couch, looking towards the overhang.

“Master Bruce,” said Alfred, “I have your dinner, if you are hungry.”

“I’m quite famished, actually.” Bruce gestured for Alfred to come in. 

Alfred hesitated for a moment, and then strode into the room with the tray in hand.

“I hope veal will suit your appetite tonight, sir.” Alfred set the tray down in front of Bruce and turned to leave.

“Wait, Alfred.”

Alfred turned back. “Yes, Master Bruce?”

Bruce inhaled. “Sit with me for a moment.” He patted the seat next to him.

Alfred nodded, sitting down next to Bruce on his reclining couch.

“I have been thinking about my father and his relationship with Jeremiah.”

Alfred swallowed, ducking his head. He nodded for Bruce to continue.

“I have observed a number of things that I find peculiar, that so far have yet to be explained. One of them is that whenever Jeremiah was instructing me, there were no guardsmen present. I find this interesting because with my prior tutors, there has always been a guardsman present. It’s unprecedented for my father to leave me with someone whom I’m never met without supervision from the royal guard.”

Alfred said nothing. 

“Another observation I made was during my first interaction with Jeremiah. You were there, in fact, along with my father. A comment had been made by Jeremiah regarding my bluntness, and my father said that he had told Jeremiah that I don’t mince words. This tells me that on at least one occasion, Jeremiah and my father had spoken to one another in the past.”

“My final observation is…a bit obvious. With none of my prior tutors has my father offered to allow them to stay in the palace. And within mere days of him staying with us, my father called him his son.”

Alfred nodded. “Astute observations, sir.”

Bruce met Alfred’s eyes. “You were my father’s most trusted servant. You must know something about how my father and Jeremiah knew each other.”

Alfred took a deep breath. “I cannot lie to you, Master Bruce. Your father and Jeremiah met through Cicero, who on numerous occasions came to the Senate to defend various clients in a court of law. Cicero and he got along well, and Cicero was always boasting about his star pupil, a young man named Jeremiah. A savant and prodigy who through sheer coincidence had landed on his doorstep due to a horrific tragedy that struck his family.”

Bruce nodded. “Jeremiah told me about his family.”

Alfred’s expression was solemn. “I believe this struck a chord deep within your father, having lost your mother. So he took it upon himself to meet this young man. Perhaps selfishly at first, as a kind of catharsis after having lost his wife. But after meeting Jeremiah, he was so thoroughly impressed that he began seeking out his help, as an unofficial second opinion of sorts, for his speeches to the Senate.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. _This_ explained how Jeremiah seemed to know his father well enough to write the eulogy that he did.

“So, you are correct, Master Bruce, in assuming there had been past interactions between your father and Jeremiah. Many, in fact. And I believe that over time, after consulting with Jeremiah on numerous occasions for his orations, that he began to view Jeremiah as family. As if he were another son. And so, to him, it seemed that Jeremiah would prove to be an excellent instructor for you.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I suppose so.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Sir, I believe your father had an additional motive for appointing Jeremiah as your tutor.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And that would be…?”

Alfred sighed heavily. “I have reason to believe your father knew he was treading into dangerous waters with some of the work he had been doing within the Senate. I believe he told you during his last dinner with you that he would finally be able to secure the safety of the republic with the work he would be performing the following day.”

Bruce took a sharp inhalation of breath. “He did, in fact.” _Did that mean…?_

“The timing of hiring on Jeremiah as your tutor was intriguing to me. But, in hindsight, I believe that his contingency plan, should things not go as planned, was that Jeremiah would serve as an adviser to you. Someone who he had worked with closely and frequently in the past, as a sort of quasi-adviser, and someone who he trusted enough to allow for accommodations in the palace for him. Someone to help you should he no longer be Emperor.”

Bruce sat back against the couch, floored by the revelations.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Bruce swallowed. His mouth felt dry.

“I’m alright, Alfred. I believe I am in need of some rest.”

Alfred nodded profusely. “Of course, sir. I shall take my leave, then. But please alert me if you require anything at all.”

As Alfred left, Bruce looked over to where his books - and the first and second letters from Jeremiah - were resting.

He ran his fingers along the edges of the scroll containing the words from his third letter. 

_I wish Father had not kept this information from me._

Bruce rose, striding to the book shelves, his chest pounding as he drew nearer.

With his left hand, he pinned the first letter in place, and with his right hand, he unfurled the scroll containing the rest of Jeremiah’s words.

The pounding in his chest quickened, despite having read over this numerous times.

  


_Your Highness,_

_I hope you are well. Admittedly, I am worried sick about you. After you injured yourself when you discovered Caesar in his room, I was so fearful that you would never wake again. _

_I had Alfred take you into my room, so that I might watch you day and night for any signs of you waking or stirring. I would lower my head to your chest, hoping and praying to the gods that I would hear the pulse of life within you, and it always delighted me to tears (of joy, of relief) when I heard it resonating within you._

Bruce felt a tingling sensation on his skin at this.

_I know exactly why you did what you did. And I know this because I wanted to do what you did, too, when my mother passed on to the afterlife. Much worse, even. I wanted to take the sword sticking out of her chest, and run the blade along my neck, my arms, my legs. I wanted the world to see my insides and see how much I was destroyed when she left this world. How little of me remained when she was gone._

Tears stung in Bruce’s eyes.

_But I knew that I wouldn’t, that I couldn’t. I am, in fact, a cowardly man. Perhaps you have already discovered this. _

_The difference between you and I is that you are not afraid to make the hard choices. You are relentless and driven, perhaps to a fault. In fact, definitely to a fault, considering what you tried to do to yourself. _

Despite the morbidity of the matter, Bruce had to stifle a huff of laughter at Jeremiah’s turnaround from _perhaps_ to _definitely_. 

_I wanted to write this so that you knew that I don’t blame you for what you did. I have been there, too. But every day, at every meal (and in-between), I pray to the gods (if they even listen to my pleas, anymore) that you never do something such as that ever again. Or that, if you are “frivolous” enough to do so, that they will intervene once again, as they so blessedly did before. _

This time, Bruce didn’t bother hiding his chuckle.

_Please rest. And perhaps later, when the dust has settled, we can speak once more with one another. I am astounded that in such a short time of knowing you, it is difficult to go a day without you near._

_Though, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at all. You are a gift directly from the gods._

_Your servant,_

_Jeremiah_

  


A shiver ran down Bruce’s neck, tingling at the base, as he let go of the scroll, allowing it to furl back into itself.

He unfurled the second letter, biting his lip as he did so.

  


_Your Highness, _

_I have confirmation from Alfred that he did, in fact, deliver my first letter to you. This brings me great relief, as I know that it is now in your possession. However, it also brings me great sorrow, as a day has now gone by without my hearing from you. _

_I am paranoid and worried and perturbed that you might be upset with me. At first, I thought perhaps you needed some rest and reprieve from interaction, so thusly requested that I not see you. However, the more that I ponder what Alfred told me - about my referring to you solely as “Your Highness” or “My lord” - the more I believe you are cross with me. _

_I remember the night you and I supped with one another. After your father left, how we partook of wine together. The flush on your cheeks, and how your lips brushed against my fingers as you took the grape from me. _

_How I showed you what I felt for you. _

Warmth flooded through Bruce’s body, coursing through his extremities, pooling low in his stomach.

_Just yesterday, I looked back on that night fondly. But now, I fear I have pushed you away with all that I said and did._

_I beg of you, my lord: Please, forgive me, and my selfish, wanton, depraved side of me, for how I transgressed. I want nothing more than to be everything that you want me to be, and nothing more or less. For you to prune me, like one of the many mulberry trees in your courtyard, of any fruit that reeks of impropriety; of any branch that is purposeless, or is infested with beetles. To shape me, as if I were clay, into whatever mold best suits your fancy and your will._

_My body, my soul, is yours to do with as you please, my lord. Please, if it pleases you, will you find it somewhere in the depths of your soul to give me another chance? And we can forget that night ever happened, if that would please you. _

_Your humble servant, begging for mercy,_

_Jeremiah_

  


Bruce sighed, letting go of the scroll to head back to where he had been sitting.

He took hold of the third letter, the thumping in his chest making his head swim.

  


_Your Highness,_

_Yet another day has gone by without seeing or hearing from you, and I believe I am growing mad from being so close to, yet so far from, you, my lord. I find that when I am able to leave my room to bathe, I look down each hallway, hoping against hope that I might see you. Just a glance of you would be more than enough to quench my soul’s thirst for you. Yet, I find myself deprived, and without answers as to why this is so._

_More and more, I see the corner of my room, calculating how far away I must stand, and how fast I must run, to end my mortal pain and suffering. Mere days ago, I never thought I would have the courage to perform such an act. But now, having a taste of the true grandeur of this life - of being with you - and now going without, I am devoid of such cowardice over ending it all._

_Do you remember that night, when we sat next to one another? When you leaned over me to take a grape, how close you were to me, how much closer I wanted you still? _

_Do you regret your words to me that night? Do you regret your curiosity about my feelings for other men? _

_My feelings…for you?_

Bruce looked down at his lap. The beginnings of arousal greeted him, tenting through his tunic.

He had never felt such arousal before; such an intense need to take hold of himself, to relieve himself and give into an all-consuming desire that he had, before now, never realized he’d had.

Bruce stood, heading toward the bathing room nestled inside his room.

It was quite small; he normally preferred the baths near his servants’ quarters, as it was more expedient for Alfred to run his bath there, and allowed more room for help by the servants. 

But now, he was grateful his father had thought to provide him with an attached bathing room, free of onlooking guardsmen.

Bruce did not bother hailing Alfred to retrieve water.

All he needed was the enclosed tub itself.

As he lowered himself into the empty tub, letter still in hand, he lifted his tunic, taking hold of himself.

Bruce bit back a moan, closing his eyes, thinking already about what the rest of the letter contained. 

He opened his eyes, enough to continue reading, knowing fully (having read this letter twice) what was coming next.

_My lord, please pardon my selfish needs. Perhaps, in light of my unholy actions and words of impropriety, you might find it fit to punish me. _

_I will gladly, readily, wholeheartedly submit to any punishment you desire to unleash upon me. Perhaps a public flogging, my naked body prone at your feet, tears streaming down my face, both out of pain and out of joy. Joy that you acknowledge me, at long last, after having gone days without you recognizing me, laying your eyes and attention upon me. _

_Perhaps a more private punishment might be dealt upon me. A private flogging, rendered by you instead of some nameless guardsman, to retaliate against my impropriety. The whole of my body would be covered with the marks you inflicted upon me, and with every hit I would cry out, but it would be worth it to feel your eyes on me, to know the welts on me would be by your hand, ordained by you, a god among men._

Bruce closed his eyes, clenching his fist tighter around himself, pulsing up and down along his length, faster and faster. 

He felt the scroll fall from his hand. No matter.

He had memorized the rest of the letter.

_Or perhaps, you would choose to inflict a more particular kind of punishment, suited to the crime for which I must atone. Perhaps it would be in private once more, but instead of a whip as your tool, you would use yourself. The most dangerous weapon of all, and yet, the most appropriate, given what I had done, what I had said, to offend your sensibilities. _

_You would sneak into my room, late at night, while I lay sleeping. You would creep behind me, lie yourself down beside me, and when I would stir, perhaps waking from my dreams, I would meet your eyes. Not without shock, but certainly a welcome surprise, knowing that whatever you would choose to unleash upon me, I would deserve every second of it, every moment of it._

_And then, quick as a thief in the night, you would force my head down into the cushion, flipping yourself onto me, mounting me from behind. I would cry out - yes, with shock, but also with ecstasy, that you have chosen to exact punishment upon me using the most beautiful, wonderful, and holy weapons of all: your hands, your teeth, your lips, your body, moving against mine. _

_You would strip me of my clothes, rid me of my tunic and undergarments, perhaps ripping them to shreds with the anger you feel towards me, for all that I have done and said. _

_And then - because I deserve it, because I am unworthy, because of how I acted out of impropriety - you would push yourself into me, without so much as a drop of oil or water to ease the way, and I would scream, and I would live and die for every second of it; and if I were to die at your hands in this way, I would be truly happy, and go to the afterlife without a morsel of regret for how I arrived there. _

_And if, by some miracle, I did not die, I would be forever grateful for every moment you writhed within me, moved into me and against me, and the tears pouring down my face would dampen the cushion beneath us, and yet you still would not stop, could not stop, until you were satisfied. _

_And when you were finally satisfied with the punishment exacted upon me, you would rise up from me, out of me, and the evidence of your satisfaction would drip from me, red and milky white muddying together, a perfect marriage signifying your happiness and my pain, conjoined together. _

Bruce bit down on his clenched fist as his other hand drove himself to completion, the rolling orgasm rocking through his body, his back bowed as his seed leaked from him. 

As he panted, the throbbing slowing down to a crawl, he fumbled about, his hand searching for the letter.

When he found it, he raised it to read the rest, though he had committed it to memory.

_My lord, you are the king of my body, of my soul, of my very thoughts. I would do anything you asked of me, without question, and with no regard to my own selfish needs and wants. And I would take any and all punishment you exact, knowing that I deserved it._

_Please forgive me; please allow me to take in the sight of you, even if it the last thing I see before I am taken to the afterlife._

_Your humble servant, begging for mercy, with unquestioning and undying and eternal loyalty,_

_Jeremiah_

  


As Bruce cleaned himself off with a cloth, he felt resolve steady within him.

He knew what he must do. 

“Alfred!” He called out, adjusting his tunic and coming out of the bathing room.

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice wafted in from the overhang.

“Remove the guardsman posted outside Jeremiah’s room, but do so in a way that will not alert Jeremiah. Come back once you have done so, and show me to his room. I wish to speak with him.”

“Of course, sir.” 

* * *

Alfred came back a few minutes later.

“Sir, I am ready to take you to Jeremiah’s quarters.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred led him down the hallway, past the study, past his father’s room, past the servants’ quarters, to the other side of the complex.

Bruce chuckled to himself. For all the convenience his father said Jeremiah living here would bring, his room was put quite out of the way for him to reach.

Alfred stopped just before a room on his left, the last one down this hallway.

Just as Alfred was about to speak, Bruce raised a finger to his lips.

Alfred smiled, nodding before he strode down the hallway from which they came. 

As Bruce looked back to Jeremiah’s room, he was startled.

Jeremiah had poked his head out from around the corner of his room’s wall.

When they met eyes, Jeremiah gasped.

“M-My lord?” His voice trembled, and as Bruce looked him up and down, he saw his whole body was shaking.

Bruce drew closer, stopping right in front of Jeremiah, mere inches away from him.

“We need to talk.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jeremiah backed away from Bruce slightly to pull himself fully around the corner of the wall to his room.

“M-My lord, if you would like, we m-may talk in here.” Jeremiah was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“No need.” Bruce placed his back against the wall in the hallway, and slid down it until he was fully seated on the floor.

He patted the floor next to him. “Sit with me.”

Jeremiah nodded profusely before sitting down next to Bruce along the wall. 

Bruce noticed that Jeremiah took care to leave a few inches of space between them.

After a moment of silence, Bruce spoke up.

“I read your letters.”

At this, Jeremiah whipped his head to face Bruce. “Y-you did, my lord?” Then, he stiffened, turning his head to face forward once more.

Bruce nodded. “Yes. Though, that’s not why I’m here.”

Bruce heard, rather than saw, Jeremiah gulp. 

“I’m here because I want the old Jeremiah back. The one who doesn’t jump every time I talk.” Bruce smirked down at the ground.

“Y-Your Highness, I am at your service for whatever you may need. I am…I am fearful, however…”

“Don’t be.”

Jeremiah flinched. “Did you read - “

“The third letter? Yes.” Bruce turned to look at Jeremiah. 

“Jeremiah. Look at me.”

Finally, after staring forward for some time, Jeremiah turned to Bruce.

“You’re not in trouble. Alfred told me about how you wrote the eulogy.”

At this, Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “My lord, was it pleasing to you?”

“It was beautiful.” Bruce gave a small smile. “I really couldn’t have asked for a better eulogy.”

Jeremiah ducked his head. “I’m…I’m glad you liked it, my lord.” Jeremiah was still trembling.

“Alfred told me about how you helped my father over the years.”

Jeremiah jerked up at this. Then, he nodded swiftly.

“It was an honor and privilege to be recognized by Caesar in any capacity, Your Highness.”

Bruce looked down at his lap. “You’re lucky to have known him at his best. I really know nothing about his political dealings.”

“Being Emperor isn’t exactly a glamorous job, Your Grace.” Finally - _finally_ \- Jeremiah’s lips curled up slightly.

Bruce felt his chest lighten a bit.

“That’s fair.” Bruce sighed. “I just wish I could have been included in his world. I felt as though I was deliberately left out.”

“Perhaps he was trying to shield you from the darker side of politics, Your Highness.”

At this, Bruce looked up, meeting Jeremiah’s eyes.

“Perhaps. But what exactly would he be shielding me from?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, my lord.”

Bruce looked down again. 

“I-I wish he had told me…Alfred told me he’d been dealing with potentially dangerous work in the Senate, and if I had only known…” Bruce sniffled. 

Jeremiah straightened. “My lord, there was no way you could have prevented this without risking your own life in the process. This…_lowlife_, or group of lowlifes, killed three guardsmen and infiltrated the palace without so much as alerting any of the servants or Alfred.”

Jeremiah’s voice took on a pleading tone. “An act of this caliber and atrocity required a particular set of skills - stealth, agility, callousness - that we would not have been equipped to deal with. As horrific as it was that it happened, I’m grateful we were both asleep when it occurred.”

Bruce didn’t respond, a tear sliding down his cheek.

Jeremiah gasped. “Your Highness, I’m so sorry - would you like to talk about something else?”

Bruce shook his head furiously. “No. I just - please. Just sit with me.”

Jeremiah swallowed. “Of course, my lord. Anything for you.”

Bruce couldn’t hold it back anymore. He sobbed into his own hands, shoulders heaving with each sob.

“My lord - I can get you a cloth, for your tears.” Jeremiah began to stand.

“No.” Bruce’s stern voice echoed through the halls, and Jeremiah sat back down.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness. I apologize.”

Bruce didn’t bother responding, instead continuing to sob, curling his knees up to his chest. 

Bruce heard a faint ripping sound, and a slight tickling sensation at his forehead.

“My lord, please take this.” Bruce looked up, and saw a ripped piece of fabric that looked vaguely familiar.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the cloth and blowing his nose.

When he paused to look at the cloth, Bruce looked over to Jeremiah.

“Is this from the tunic you’re wearing?”

Jeremiah smiled. “Well, I didn’t exactly need it at the moment.” He gestured to his left sleeve, a piece of fabric missing from it.

Bruce chuckled through his tears. “You’re too kind, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Not nearly kind enough, my lord.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Bruce stuck to the same routine. 

In the mornings, he would awaken, bathe, dress, and then head to Jeremiah’s room, where Alfred had two trays waiting for them just outside.

Bruce and Jeremiah would eat together, seated in the hall, just as they had before, inches apart.

Often, during breakfast, Bruce would set down his tray and curl his knees up to his chest, crying into his hands. Jeremiah would ask incessantly if he needed water, or a cloth, or Alfred, but Bruce would stop him, and simply make him stay next to him.

After breakfast, they would go out to the courtyard, walking side-by-side. 

The first time, Jeremiah had seated himself across from Bruce in the indoor patio, much like they had during their tutoring sessions.

Bruce had glowered at him, simply pointing at the cushion next to his. Without a word of protest, Jeremiah then joined Bruce on the couch next to him.

After that, Jeremiah didn’t need to be reminded of his expected seating arrangement. 

Then, Alfred would bring out their lunch trays, and Bruce and Jeremiah would eat together out in the garden.

Later on, for dinner, they would retreat back into the palace to the hallway outside Jeremiah’s room. Alfred would serve them their dinner trays.

At dinner, Jeremiah would ask if Bruce would like to relocate to his room, as the couches would be more comfortable than the floor.

Bruce would glare at him, and Jeremiah would smile, leaving the matter be.

Late at night, Bruce would yawn, and Jeremiah would ask if he was ready for bed, and if he wished to stay in Jeremiah’s room if that would be more convenient. Bruce would roll his eyes, bid Jeremiah good night, and walk his way back to his own room, where he would fall asleep exhausted on his reclining couch.

* * *

Several days into this routine, Bruce broke down sobbing at breakfast, as he sometimes did.

“My lord, is there not something - _anything_ \- I can do to comfort you?” 

Bruce continued to sob, not responding.

“My lord, if it pleases you - I have heard that physical affection can be helpful in times of grief. Would you - “

At this, Bruce leaned his head into Jeremiah’s chest, his sobs slightly muffled.

Jeremiah stiffened. Bruce felt Jeremiah’s pulsing in his chest quicken. 

“My lord, may I - “

“Bruce. Please, Miah, call me Bruce.”

Bruce felt Jeremiah’s breath catch. 

“Bruce.” Bruce could hear the smile in his voice.

Then, Bruce’s head was cradled by a strong hand, and Jeremiah’s fingers began massaging Bruce’s scalp.

After a few minutes of this, Bruce calmed down, and fell asleep breathing in Jeremiah’s unique scent of wooded forest and musk.

* * *

_Bruce was sitting beside Jeremiah at the dining table, his wrist being gripped by Jeremiah’s hand._

_“Bruce. Would you like to see my room?”_

_Bruce nodded sleepily. “Obviously.” He smiled, closing his eyes briefly._

_Jeremiah laughed. “You seem a bit tired. Perhaps you should call it a night?”_

_“No way. I would not miss this for the world.” _

_Jeremiah grinned. “I was hoping you would say that.”_

_Jeremiah stood, his hand slipping down to take Bruce’s hand in his. Bruce giggled._

_“This feels so weird, Miah.”_

_“What does?” Jeremiah’s eyes crinkled up at this. Bruce found it endearing._

_“Holding hands. I cannot say I am used to this…closeness.”_

_Jeremiah’s face dampened with concern. “Is it too much?”_

_Bruce gripped his hand harder. “No.”_

_Jeremiah smiled, pulling Bruce along down the hallway._

_“Wow, your room is really far from mine!”_

_Jeremiah looked over at him fondly. “Is that so?”_

_“Absolutely.”_

_“Perhaps one day, I will be allowed to see it?”_

_Bruce hummed. “Maybe. We will have to see about that.”_

_Jeremiah laughed. “That’s not a no.”_

_“That’s not a yes, either!”_

_“You are right, of course.” _

_Finally, they reached the end of the hallway, to the last room on the left._

_“Took long enough!” Bruce laughed, and Jeremiah flushed._

_“Your father certainly thought ahead with my room placement, then.” _

_At this, Bruce squinted. “Did he know about you, and…?”_

_Jeremiah pursed his lips. “I’m not sure. I was honest with him about my lack of attraction to women, though.”_

_Bruce giggled. “How did THAT come up?”_

_Jeremiah led him to the overhang of his room, stopping just at the threshold. “He did ask if I had a wife. I said no, and that I would never. He probably inferred at that point.”_

_Bruce smirked. “Well, when you put it like that, of course he figured it out!”_

_Jeremiah turned towards Bruce, hand not letting go of his. “All things considered, whether he knew or not, he still trusted me enough to stay here in the palace, knowing his son resided here as well.” A devilish smirk played along his lips._

_Bruce drew nearer to him. “Did you plan this, Miah?”_

_Jeremiah shook his head. “Oh, heavens, no. It is bad form to get involved with your students, and besides, I had no idea what kind of person you were, or if you were even attracted to men. I always assume the worst when it comes to this. Besides, this is something I could easily be put to death for.”_

_Bruce scowled. “I already told you, I would never allow that to happen.”_

_Jeremiah sighed, taking a step closer. “Bruce…my lovely Bruce…” _

_Bruce took a step back, but realized belatedly he was up against the wall._

_He looked up at Jeremiah. Jeremiah’s pupils were blown wide._

_“If your father were to find out, I would surely die, regardless of what you had to say about it.”_

_Bruce smirked. “Then I guess we can never tell him.”_

_Jeremiah closed his eyes, leaning into Bruce’s space. “Please, Bruce, don’t tempt me…”_

_“Have I not already?” _

_Jeremiah opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow. “You know exactly what you are doing, don’t you?”_

_Bruce grinned. “Maybe. But you have a brilliant mind - I could not possibly outsmart you.”_

_Jeremiah stilled, stepping back slightly._

_“What?” Bruce asked, curious._

_“I-I…” Jeremiah looked down. “That means so much to me, Bruce.” He met eyes with Bruce once more. _

_Bruce saw his gaze oscillate between both his eyes again. Then, all at once, it hit him as to where he’d seen that look before._

_It was the way his father and mother had looked at one another before she had passed on to the afterlife._

_“Bruce, I think I lo-”_

_Footsteps padded down the hall, and Jeremiah flinched back from Bruce. _

_“I - we should go to sleep.” Jeremiah pulled Bruce’s hand between both of his own, kissing the back of it deeply. “I will see you tomorrow.”_

_With that, Jeremiah fled into the recesses of his room, out of Bruce’s sight. _

_Bruce felt a bit miffed, trudging towards his room and flopping down onto his reclining couch._

_He smiled, though, knowing that soon he’d be able to see Jeremiah again._

* * *

Bruce was startled awake by a gentle shaking at his shoulders. 

Bruce jumped, shouting “No, Alfred, no!”

“No, no, Bruce. It’s me, Jeremiah. I’m here.”

Bruce looked up, relief washing over him. 

He was curled up against Jeremiah’s chest, still in the hallway outside of Jeremiah’s room.

“I…I am sorry, Jeremiah.” Bruce straightened. “It reminded me of when Alfred woke me up that morning…”

Jeremiah shook his head.

“No need to apologize. That was my fault for alarming you in that way.”

Bruce cleared his throat, freeing himself from Jeremiah’s grasp. He stood up, and Jeremiah followed.

“Jeremiah, I have been thinking.”

Jeremiah grinned. “I certainly would hope so.”

Bruce punched him in the shoulder. “I have been thinking about what my father would want for you, in the event of his passing on to the afterlife.”

Jeremiah stilled, his gaze drifting to the floor. 

“I have been speaking with Alfred about your relationship with my father, and how for years he consulted with you on how to communicate his ideas through his speeches to the Senate.”

Jeremiah looked up at this.

“You were someone he trusted deeply, considering how he was so willing to offer accommodations within the palace for you. It’s not something he’s ever done with any of my previous tutors, let alone anyone else in his life.” Bruce stepped towards him. “Given the timing of your appointment as my tutor, I have reason to believe he wanted you to assist me should he be unable to rule as Emperor.”

Bruce smiled. “He considered you family, which is not something my father takes lightly. I believe he would want your help in ensuring my transition to the role of Emperor would go as smoothly as possible.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened, his hand coming to his mouth.

“Jeremiah, I need your help. Probably more than I would like to admit.” Bruce chuckled to himself. “Would you accept a position to be my political adviser?”

Jeremiah gasped, and then bent down to the floor. Then, Bruce felt his arm being pulled, and when he looked down, Jeremiah was kissing his hand.

“Of course, my lord.” 

Bruce closed his eyes, remembering what he had thought he’d forgotten - what came to him in a dream, the memory of Jeremiah taking his hand in his and kissing the back of it deeply.

Then, Jeremiah backtracked. “I mean, I-I - “ He sputtered. “I am sorry, my lord - “

Bruce opened his eyes. “For what?”

“I-I do not wish to anger you - “

Bruce laughed. “Is what you did just now not a show of respect?”

Jeremiah nodded profusely. “Yes. The utmost respect and admiration, bottomless in depth and boundless in breadth.” Jeremiah bowed his head, still kneeling.

Bruce nodded. It always took his breath away how Jeremiah worded things so eloquently.

“Then do not apologize.”

Jeremiah smiled, rising up from where he had been kneeling.

“I hope you are ready for what lies ahead.” 

Jeremiah nodded once, the smile not leaving his lips. “Ready and waiting for your command, my lord.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Bruce woke up, feeling more refreshed than he had felt in at least a week.

He rose, taking a change of clothes with him as he headed to the servants’ quarters to take his bath. 

As he walked into the bathing room, though, he froze.

Jeremiah was already there, bathing himself. 

He was fully seated in a tub, scrubbing his hair, eyes closed.

His lips were parted slightly, at least from what Bruce could tell from his profile. 

Bruce was utterly in awe. His arms and shoulders were exposed, and Bruce gazed on, admiring the muscles rippling underneath. 

Bruce wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but eventually, Jeremiah sunk under the water to rinse out his hair. 

Bruce swallowed. Maybe this was a good time to leave.

As Bruce made to turn around, though, Jeremiah resurfaced, and he rose from the tub. 

Rivulets of water trickled down his face, his neck, his broad chest - _wow_. 

Jeremiah truly had a body sculpted by Apollo. 

His shoulders were broad, his back long and built; a chest, strong and solid and completely bare of hair. 

And below that, a sculpted abdomen. Bruce at first thought he might have been flexing, but as Jeremiah breathed in and out, he saw that indeed, it was his natural state.

Jeremiah faced slightly away from him, which led Bruce’s gaze down to his legs, where a light brushing of hair was all that distracted from the sinewy muscle there.

Bruce’s eyes trailed up, then.

Suddenly, the spell was broken, and Jeremiah turned toward the entrance where Bruce was standing.

“Bruce?” Jeremiah tilted his head, a puzzled look crossing his features.

Bruce turned swiftly around, power-walking out the door, hoping that maybe he hadn’t been noticed.

It was not to be, though.

“Bruce, are you - “

Bruce broke into a sprint, running towards his room.

When he got there, he flew into the bathing room, needing some privacy.

Sliding into the empty tub, he pulled himself out from his undergarments, swiping his tongue along his hand before beginning his ministrations.

He didn’t bother starting slow; he was already nearly there, thinking of Jeremiah’s wet, nude body, and how badly he wanted to touch every inch, explore every crevice, and make him moan…

“Bruce?” Jeremiah’s voice wafted in from the overhang outside his room.

_Fuck. _And with just his voice, Bruce was coming, and coming, and he hoped and prayed to every deity that would listen that Jeremiah didn’t hear his loud gasp before planting his hand over his own mouth, or his muffled drawn-out moan as his orgasm rolled through him, or the rustling of the fabric from his toga as his back arched in pleasure.

As Bruce came down from his high, he could hear Jeremiah sigh.

“Bruce, I know you’re in there.”

Bruce did his best to control his breathing and muffle his panting.

Another sigh from Jeremiah. “Look, it…it’s okay, you know? I am not sure why you wandered into the bathing room, but I certainly am not complaining.” A chuckle. “If you require something of me, you know I am always at the ready for you, my lord. Even while bathing.” Bruce could hear the smile in his voice.

“I just…I don’t think there is anything wrong with looking. Anything at all. Curiosity is and will always be a virtue, in my book. So I hope you’re not beating yourself up for this.”

Another sigh. “Whenever you want to talk about this, you know where I am.” 

Footsteps padded away, and finally Bruce let out a sigh of relief. 

* * *

Alfred came by later on to deposit a dinner tray.

“Master Bruce, I have your dinner here, if you’re hungry.” 

Bruce sat up from the reclining couch. “I’ll take it. Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded as Bruce came to take the tray.

“Alfred, could you please inform the guardsmen that I am not to be seen by anyone in my room unless it is you?”

Alfred pursed his lips. “Certainly, sir. May I ask why this sudden request of privacy?”

Bruce sighed. “I require time to compose my first speech to the Senate. It is in two days, is it not?”

“Yes, my lord.” Alfred breathed out through his nose. “Is Jeremiah not ordained to help you in these matters?”

Bruce scowled. “I don’t need Jeremiah’s assistance. I can compose a speech perfectly fine on my own.”

Alfred ducked his head. “Of course, sir.” 

With that, Alfred took his leave, and Bruce turned back to his scroll, jotting down ideas for his Senatorial address.

* * *

The next morning, Bruce made haste to bathe before the rest of the palace would stir awake, but it was not to be.

As Bruce rounded the corner to head into the communal bathing room, Jeremiah was waiting, causing Bruce to jump back in shock.

“Care to explain why you are suddenly not taking visitors?” Jeremiah advanced on him, Bruce backing up slowly.

“I was not aware I had to ask your permission to be given privacy.” Bruce leveled a glare his way.

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched. “And _I_,” he spat out, taking a step towards Bruce, “was not aware that I was being deliberately kept back from assisting you, as your _appointed_ political adviser.” 

Bruce stepped back, only to realize he was trapped against the wall of the bathing room.

“Yes, well, if I have no need for your _assistance_, then there is no need to involve you _frivolously_ and _needlessly_ when I am perfectly capable of writing my own damn speech.” Bruce stepped into Jeremiah’s space, not caring in the slightest about his automatic disadvantage between his height and being backed up against the wall.

Jeremiah growled, slamming a hand against the wall, effectively caging Bruce in. “You know, I think I know what this is truly about.”

“Oh, and what might that be, my _dear_ political adviser?” Bruce glowered at him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jeremiah leaned in, mouth next to Bruce’s ear, “_maybe_ it’s that you are once again running from your feelings.”

Bruce tried to stifle the shiver that ran up his back. Jeremiah’s tone was low. Dangerous.

“I have no idea what you are speaking of.” 

Jeremiah leaned back, effortlessly placing his other hand on the other side of Bruce’s head. “Oh, I think you know _damn well_ what I am speaking of, _Your Grace_.” He leaned in close to Bruce, noses nearly touching.

Bruce’s fist clenched; he forced himself to release it, though he wanted nothing more than to punch Jeremiah right in the face.

“Shall I remind you who it was that looked on as I bathed?” Jeremiah smirked. “And don’t think that I did not see how it affected you.”

“You know _nothing_ about me, or what does and doesn’t affect me.”

Jeremiah leaned back to laugh. “Ha!” He inched back into Bruce’s space, lifting his hand from the wall only to use his thumb to caress the outside of Bruce’s ear.

Bruce bit down hard on his own lip.

“After staying by your side for three days - at _your_ request, mind you - as your mourned over your father, I am rewarded with you shutting me out from doing my _job_.” Jeremiah tilted his head, licking his lips, not taking his eyes off Bruce’s lips. “Which, need I remind you, _you_ were the one who said you needed me.”

Bruce swallowed. “I am allowed to change my mind, am I not?”

Jeremiah’s eyes flicked back up to Bruce’s. “On what, exactly?” He continued running his thumb along Bruce’s ear, pressing down slightly, nearly making Bruce keen.

“On needing you for your speechwriting skills. The only reason I still employ you now is because my father wished it to be so.” Bruce stepped closer, swatting Jeremiah’s hand away from his ear. “Because otherwise, your third letter, should it be discovered, would sentence you to death. Need I remind _you_, that your life and freedom are fully in my hands.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened briefly. Then, a lazy smile crossed his face as he pushed himself back off the wall, crossing his arms.

“_Oh_, I see. So _this_ is how we’re playing now.” Jeremiah leaned in towards Bruce, his smile never leaving his face.

It was downright…_creepy_.

“Well, my _dear_ Bruce, I never thought you, of all people, would give in to the temptation of blackmail, but _two_ can most certainly play that game.” He bit his bottom lip, Bruce’s eyes tracking the movement. 

Jeremiah leaned in close, mouth grazing Bruce’s ear, tone dripping with condescension. “After all, it was certainly not _my_ moans that I heard coming from your room after seeing me bathe.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. _Fuck._

Jeremiah pulled away, a devilish smirk lining his lips. There was a glint in his eyes Bruce had never seen before.

Jeremiah spun around, heading out from the bathing room.

“Jeremiah!” Jeremiah stopped in his tracks. “I have not dismissed you yet.”

Jeremiah turned slowly, his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Quite the contrary, _Your Highness_.” His eyes flicked up and down Bruce’s figure. “Our _lovely_ talk just now proves that you have.”

As Jeremiah strode out, Bruce sank back against the wall, the thumping in his chest making him feel faint.


	9. Chapter 9

For the rest of the day, Bruce did not see or hear from Jeremiah. 

Which was fine. More than fine, actually. Besides, he needed to concentrate fully on his address to the Senate the following morning.

As Bruce polished off his draft, he smiled, feeling confidant about how the speech would be received.

* * *

The next morning, Alfred came to his room with breakfast.

“Master Bruce, I have taken care of fitting Jeremiah for his royal attire to be donned today.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Alfred.” He had forgotten that Jeremiah would be dressed in royal attire, as was expected of an adviser to the Emperor.

As Bruce dressed, he heard a knock on the wall.

“My lord, Jeremiah has expressed he is ready for departure to the Senate.”

Bruce scowled. How dare he be rushed on such an important day!

“Please tell him I will meet him at his room when I am ready.” 

“Of course, sir.” Alfred took leave, and Bruce sighed heavily.

He really had no idea what to expect of Jeremiah, given their current debacle. He fervently hoped Jeremiah would not be so flippant to him in front of the senators.

Perhaps, he thought, that was hoping for too much.

* * *

Bruce walked the long hallway all the way down to Jeremiah’s room, murmuring to himself about ungrateful servants.

At last, he reached Jeremiah’s room, and peered in. 

Jeremiah was sitting, legs crossed, on a cushion, looking perfectly at ease.

When he met eyes with Bruce, however, his face hardened.

_Well, shit._

Jeremiah rose. “Good morning, Your Highness,” he greeted Bruce, a slight edge to his voice.

Bruce swallowed, taking in Jeremiah’s royal attire. 

Jeremiah had gone for a monochromatic look - a purple tunic underneath a purple toga. However, the toga shimmered, with pearlescent luster.

It was eye-catching, and Bruce hated him for that.

Bruce nodded. “I am ready to head to the Senate.”

“As am I.” Jeremiah made to sweep past him, before stopping momentarily. “Or, well, I have been, for about an hour now.”

A condescending smirk was leveled Bruce’s way as Jeremiah continued down the hall, not bothering to wait for Bruce.

Bruce clenched his jaw as he made to catch up with Jeremiah. 

* * *

The horse-drawn cart could carry up to seven passengers, but today, Bruce had insisted on only two guardsmen accompanying he and Jeremiah in the cart. 

The other two dozen marched alongside it all the way to the Senate.

Bruce found the ride there to be excruciatingly painful. He was in close proximity to Jeremiah - too close. He ended up looking out over the edge of the cart, determined to not make eye contact with Jeremiah at any time. 

“Well, Your Majesty, I trust that the speech you plan to deliver is of only the _highest_ quality, given the source.”

Bruce whirled around, narrowing his eyes at Jeremiah. 

“And _I_ trust that you will discard your flippant, sarcastic quips as soon as we reach the Senate.”

Jeremiah straightened immediately, facing forward once more. “Of course, my lord.” 

Then, his eyes drifted back to Bruce, one side of his lips curled up. “But if you require proofreading of your draft, just know that I am here at your service. It’s not too late, you know.” 

Bruce glowered at him. “I hardly need your services in that regard.”

Jeremiah smiled, eyes facing forward again.

Bruce turned back to the sides of the road. If he didn’t, he knew he would likely strangle his political adviser.

* * *

As the cart reached the steps of the Senate, Bruce became increasingly apprehensive.

Stepping out of the cart, he required a guardsman to help steady him, his hands trembling violently.

As Bruce neared the first step, he looked up in wonder at the etched name of the Roman Senate.

_Senatus Populusque Romanus._

This was where his father made his true home, his true mark on the Roman Empire. 

Bruce looked down at his feet. Would he be able to come even close to measuring up to his father?

_Well, let’s find out._

Infused with resolve, Bruce began scaling up the steps of the Senate, mentally steeling himself for whatever lay within.

* * *

As Bruce reached the top of the steps, he looked behind him to see if Jeremiah had followed.

Blessedly, Jeremiah had remained silent, though apparently had been one step behind him the whole time. 

He met eyes with Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah wore an indecipherable expression, then looked above Bruce’s head.

Bruce turned around. The doors were being opened for them.

Bruce took a deep breath, and then strode in.

A voice boomed upon their entrance.

“Hear ye, hear ye! Let us welcome and shower with praise His Highness, the Emperor of Rome, our great Caesar Bruce!” 

Applause greeted him as he entered, the Praetorian Guard and Jeremiah in tow.

Then, a hush fell over the Senate as Bruce looked around, taking in the sight of the Roman Senate for the first time.

It was laid out much like a colosseum. Seats were staggered so that no matter where one sat, the proceedings could be easily viewed. In the middle was a clearing, which, Bruce presumed, was where the orations took place. The seats flanked out from the middle, branching up and up.

It was a spectacle, and quite overwhelming.

Bruce gulped. 

He lowered his gaze to where a tabletop was placed on the edge of the clearing. There, Oswald, presiding Speaker of the Senate, sat, gawking.

Bruce furrowed his brow. _How unusual._

Though, at least it appeared he was not gawking at Bruce.

Bruce followed his gaze behind him to land on Jeremiah, who was looking about as puzzled as Bruce was.

Around them, voices whispered in hushed tones. Some of them were pointing directly at Jeremiah. 

Bruce looked to Jeremiah, and Jeremiah met his look, appearing just as incredulous and confused by the attention paid to him.

Bruce turned back to Oswald, crossing the floor to shake hands with him.

“Our beloved Caesar, at last, greets us with his presence.” Bruce didn’t miss the subtle jab Oswald sent his way.

“I am honored to be here.” 

Oswald let go of the limp hold he had on Bruce’s hand, extending his arm out to Jeremiah. “And this must be the infamous Jeremiah Valeska! Pleasure to meet you at last.” 

Jeremiah returned the handshake, though Bruce noticed him blinking in confusion. “Pleased to meet you, as well, though I am perplexed as to how you know of me from a glance.”

Oswald let out a cackle, which rang shrilly in Bruce’s ears. “Well, I - as well as many of my peers - have heard word of your tutelage with Cicero. He often spoke of his star pupil fondly, someone of unusually-red hair and pallid complexion.”

Jeremiah didn’t look convinced, but he smiled pleasantly anyway. “Glad to hear my name precedes me, and with honor at that.”

Oswald smirked. “Your name is quite revered here, my good sir.”

Bruce was beginning to feel a bit left out when Oswald finally turned back to him.

“Your Highness, the floor is yours to address the Senate in any way you please.”

As Oswald sat down, the procession of guardsmen went on standby near the entrance, and Jeremiah stood off to the side, across the clearing from Oswald. 

Bruce was in the center of the clearing, and silence rang out in the hall.

Bruce cleared his throat, taking out his scroll to read from as he addressed the Senate.

“To the Senate - I thank you for having me here, and for allowing me to come forth to address you. I am here because of a great tragedy that befell my father, who is now looking on from the afterlife. I fully intend to find out who committed such an atrocity against him, and against the Roman Empire, and to bestow righteous justice upon the perpetrators.”

“As for my intentions here politically in the Senate, I would like your help in passing legislation to lift up our citizens out of poverty by increasing taxes. Along the streets of our great empire, we see evidence everywhere of an inequality in class. It is our duty, as representatives of the citizens of Rome, to help those in need, and I intend to act on said sacred duty.”

“Thank you for your time.”

As Bruce curled up the scroll once more, he was surprised to find he was not met with applause.

Instead, as he looked around, he saw the senators exchange glances with one another, murmuring amongst themselves. 

For his part, Oswald looked bewildered, wildly glancing about as if expecting additional parties to speak at any moment.

Bruce glanced over to Jeremiah, and was met only with a wicked grin.

_Shit._

“Thank you, Caesar,” said Oswald, a painful grin plastered on. “Does anyone have anything to bring to the floor, in light of what we just heard?”

“I’d like to speak, if the Speaker allows.” A man with olive skin stood with his hand raised.

“The Speaker recognizes Senator Ra’s Al Ghul.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Ra’s turned to Bruce, wearing a knowing smirk. “Your Highness, how do you intend to find out who is responsible for your father’s death? Surely all who know him here in the Senate knows he was beloved and cherished. He knew no enemies here.”

Bruce had only just met him, but he already felt as though he couldn’t trust him.

“You’re correct. My father was beloved and cherished by all. But we must not rule out any possibilities.”

“Certainly, then,” Ra’s followed up, “we cannot rule out the possibility that someone within the palace walls was responsible for orchestrating his murder.”

Bruce was silent, but fuming on the inside. 

The problem was, logically, Ra’s was not wrong. 

“We’ve examined the evidence and have collectively agreed that the most likely cause was someone on the outside brute-forcing their way in through the north entrance. Three guardsmen were slain there, so we have no reason to believe someone within the palace walls was responsible.”

“Permission to speak, Mr. Speaker?” A woman with blond hair raised her hand.

“The Speaker recognizes Senator Ivy Pepper.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Ivy rose delicately from her seat. “Your Majesty, is it not possible that someone could have planted a red herring by killing the guardsmen on the north side of the palace to make it appear as if the perpetrator were outside the palace?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “It _is_ possible, but highly unlikely.”

“Surely an investigation must commence with interviewing everyone within the palace walls, effective immediately?” Ivy put her hand on her hip, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be in the empire’s best interest for the Senate to conduct such an investigation, given the nature of the attack and the uncertainty around those within the palace.”

_Shit._ This was spiraling out of control.

“If I may, Mr. Speaker, I’d like to say something.” A man, tall and lean in stature with dark hair, stood from his seat just behind the Speaker.

Oswald nodded up at him. “The Speaker recognizes Senator Edward Nygma.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Edward pondered for a moment, stroking his chin as if in thought. “Your Grace, I would like to return to the matter which you brought forth concerning legislation on…shall we say…wealth redistribution?” Edward gave him a wide grin. “Should we not allow our elite noblesmen a chance to spend their hard-earned funds on goods and services, which will then inject our economy with additional commerce? Surely you can agree that purchasing meat from a merchant in the food market, for example, would go directly towards feeding their family, keeping them above poverty. Thus it certainly can be derived that the wealthier a person is, the more benefit they can bring through naturally spending their gold on existing goods and services, thereby benefiting our citizens, without needing to unnecessarily tax them.”

Bruce began breathing heavily as more and more senators began rising up from their seats, talking out of turn. The cacophony of dissenting voices and shouting burned through Bruce’s ears.

At that moment, he wondered how his father ever did it.

When his vision began swimming, he looked up into the ambient sunlight, hoping to ground himself in its glow.

As he closed his eyes, the sound of a gavel could be heard.

“Order, order!” Oswald barked out. The senators quieted down.

“Mr. Speaker, if I may.”

Bruce opened his eyes, wheeling around to look at who had spoken.

“The Speaker recognizes Mr. Jeremiah Valeska.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Jeremiah crossed the clearing to stand next to Bruce. “I understand the concerns raised here today regarding the assassination of our beloved Caesar, Thomas. We all want to know who committed this horrible crime, and we all have a vested interest in bringing the perpetrators to justice. But I would like to put to rest one worry that might be on your minds.”

Jeremiah placed a steady hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “His Highness, Bruce, was not involved in any way, shape, or form with the murder of his father. And I know this because I was with him that night. Our former Emperor appointed me to be his instructor in philosophy and writing, and we were together studying the philosophical schools of thought around the meaning of life - namely, the Stoics, Epicureans, and Peripatetics. He had no opportunity to commit this atrocity, and having spent much time with him, I know with absolute certainty he harbored no ill will towards his father to motivate him to murder.”

“As for the matter concerning lifting our citizens out of poverty,” Jeremiah continued, “we will take into consideration your thoughts and concerns as we continue deliberating on how best to accomplish this goal. I think we can all agree that a wealthier populace is a happier, and more productive, populace. It is a worthy and virtuous ambition, most telling of the immeasurable compassion His Highness possesses for all people, from all walks of life.”

Jeremiah squeezed Bruce’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, His Majesty is tired and has much to think on after speaking with you all. He will return tomorrow, well-rested and ready to lead this empire to greatness, one day at a time, bolstered by the work of this most virtuous Senate.” 

As Jeremiah turned to lead Bruce out of the forum, Oswald spoke up.

“Excuse me, Mr. Valeska? And who are you, to the Emperor?”

Jeremiah looked at Bruce, a shy smile gracing his features. Then, he turned back to the Senate.

“My name is Jeremiah Valeska. Pupil of the great orator Cicero; former philosophy and writing instructor to our great Emperor, as appointed by the former Caesar; and…“

Jeremiah locked eyes with Bruce.

“…personal and political adviser to His Highness, whom he may call upon at any time, for any reason, or no reason at all, for anything he might ever need or want.”

Bruce looked up at Jeremiah with wonder. 

Then, Jeremiah steered him out of the forum and down the steps leading out of the Senate.

* * *

The ride back to the palace was silent.

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to look at Jeremiah. He had been thoroughly embarrassed and humiliated, and all because he thought his logic would win the day.

Jeremiah had to swoop in to save him, and even then, he was unsure if he would be able to recover his image after a hellish first day in the Senate.

As the cart pulled up to the palace, Bruce jumped down, head low as he entered.

“Welcome back, my lord,” greeted Alfred. “How was it?”

Bruce didn’t respond.

Alfred, for his part, politely excused himself to attend to other matters.

* * *

Once the guardsmen pulled away to redistribute throughout the palace, all that was left was Bruce, mindlessly walking towards Jeremiah’s room, with Jeremiah silent beside him.

When they reached Jeremiah’s room, Bruce slumped against the wall of the hallway.

Jeremiah stood in front of Bruce, his face devoid of expression. 

“I’m sorry.” Bruce looked up at Jeremiah, silently praying to the gods that Jeremiah would know he meant it.

Jeremiah looked at Bruce for a long moment. Then, he looked away.

“I know.”

Bruce stared at the ground. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

Jeremiah turned back. “About?”

“Me. Us. All of it.” Bruce dared to make eye contact.

Jeremiah rested his forearm against the wall, laying his head on his bicep. “I could never lie when it comes to you, Bruce. For better or for worse.” He carded a hand through his hair.

Bruce nodded solemnly. 

“I’m still cross with you, you know.”

“That’s understandable.” Bruce could admit to that.

“There was a part of me, I will admit, that got some small joy from what ended up happening.”

Bruce pursed his lips.

“But,” Jeremiah continued, “I do think the Senate is trying to take advantage of the power vacuum left behind by your father’s passing into the afterlife. And that was evident today, by how much they tore into you as soon as they saw the opportunity.”

Jeremiah stepped closer to Bruce. “I fear this is what your father might have been trying to shield you from.”

Bruce looked down, picking a thread out from his toga.

Jeremiah sighed heavily. “Bruce.”

Bruce raised his head.

“I…” Jeremiah swallowed. “I’m sorry, for acting in such a petulant way.” Jeremiah shook his head. “You frustrate me when you shut down on me like that.”

Bruce nodded. “I understand. I felt genuinely scared when you acted that way, though.”

Jeremiah looked away. “I would never, in a million lifetimes, want you to feel that way at my hands. I…” He stilled, looking over at Bruce again. “When I feel overwhelmed by how I feel for someone, I tend to act rashly. It’s…something I am still trying to work on.”

Bruce smiled gently. “I’m glad you possess this self-awareness. Many do not.”

Jeremiah stepped closer. “Will you meet me halfway, Bruce?”

Bruce, likewise, took a step toward him, nodding. “And you, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Always.”

Jeremiah pulled Bruce into a tight hug. Bruce, uncertain where to put his hands, settled for slinging them across Jeremiah’s shoulder blades. 

When Jeremiah pulled away, he knelt down, taking Bruce’s hand in his and kissing the back of it deeply.

Bruce felt his cheeks warm.

Jeremiah rose, letting Bruce’s hand fall from his. “May only the sweetest of dreams grace you in your sleep, Your Majesty.”

Jeremiah turned to enter his room, when Bruce caught his wrist.

“Wait, Miah.”

Jeremiah turned back to Bruce with an inquisitive look.

_Will you meet me halfway, Bruce?_

Bruce took his hand, turning it so that his palm was facing up.

Then, Bruce kissed the center of Jeremiah’s palm, relishing its warmth against his lips.

He pulled away, letting go of Jeremiah’s hand.

“Good night, Miah.”

Jeremiah smiled fondly.

“Good night, Bruce.”


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Bruce woke up before dawn. 

He blearily looked over to his books, and to the letter that was placed there.

His father’s letter.

He sighed into his hands, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

_Father, I hope you forgive me that I have yet to possess the courage to read the words you penned to me._

He rose, padding out of his room and heading to his father’s.

Once there, Bruce scanned the shelves for his father’s books on writing.

_Aha!_ There was one by Cicero himself. _Rhetorica ad Herennium_. 

He pulled it off the shelf, taking it back to his room to look it over for advice on how to revise his original draft of his address to the Senate.

* * *

Several hours later, there was a knock on his wall.

“Master Bruce, I have your breakfast here, as well as a request from Jeremiah to see you.”

Bruce stood. “I can take my breakfast, and you may send him in.”

Alfred started. “I, uh. Of course, my lord.” 

Bruce took the tray from him, only for Jeremiah to appear from around the corner.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” He nodded his head to Bruce.

“G’morning, Miah. Please come on in.” Bruce nodded to Alfred. “You may take leave, Alfred.”

Alfred bowed, though not without a puzzled look on his face. “O-Of course, sir.”

As he left, Bruce turned back to Jeremiah.

“I told you, you can come in.”

Jeremiah hesitated. “I - well - “

Bruce rolled his eyes, grabbing Jeremiah by the wrist and pulling him into the room.

“You’re more than deserving to be in here with me.”

Jeremiah smiled. “I will certainly not complain about this new privilege.”

Bruce let go of his wrist, sitting down on his couch. “Sit with me.”

Jeremiah laughed. “So bossy today.” He sat down next to Bruce anyway. 

“I see you’ve been reading one of my mentor’s greatest works,” noted Jeremiah, picking up the book next to Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “It’s a good read, though I will definitely need your help implementing the strategies outlined herein.”

Jeremiah stroked his chin in faux-thought. “I think I could maybe help with that.” He winked.

Bruce had to look down to hide the warmth that had flooded to his cheeks.

“You know, Miah, I was thinking.”

“Hm?”

“Both my father and Cicero were advocating for you going into politics. After yesterday’s spectacle, I most certainly can see why. Why _haven’t_ you chosen a career in politics before now? I would happily give you all that you might need if you were interested in running for public office.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “I’ve honestly always been content to teach. And besides, I’m exactly where I want to be now.”

The back of his hand caressed Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m with you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m not sure you are understanding. You truly possess a great gift for unifying diverse perspectives and thinking on your feet in the midst of chaos.” Bruce smiled gently at him. “You could be so much more than you are.”

Jeremiah took Bruce’s hand between his, kissing his fingertips lightly. “I already told you - as long as I am by your side, I really cannot find it in myself to care what office I do or do not hold.”

“Alright, alright, I will cease my spiel. For now.” Bruce, somewhat reluctantly, pulled his hands away from Jeremiah.

As soon as he did so, Jeremiah rose to hover by the book shelves, scanning the shelves.

“Is there something in particular you are looking for?”

Jeremiah plucked a book off the shelf. “I would like to expand my knowledge in logic. Frankly, it isn’t my strong suit.”

“I had no idea.” Bruce smirked.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “It is only obvious to you that I am quite emotional at my core.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you need to tell yourself, Miah.” Bruce grinned, and Jeremiah pretended to throw the book at his head.

Jeremiah sat down beside Bruce. “What can I expect to learn from something such as this?” He held up a copy of a volume of Plato’s works.

Bruce took it from him, skimming through the pages. “If I recall correctly, you would be learning about truth tables, negation, conjunction, and set theory.”

Jeremiah laughed. “That all sounds akin to a foreign language, for all that I understood just now.” He snatched the book back from Bruce. 

“Well, I expect a formal report by tomorrow morning on all that you have learned whilst reading it.”

Jeremiah sat back, propping up his head with his hand. “Oh? And what if I don’t have it done in time?” A smirk was leveled Bruce’s way.

Bruce stared back in awe.

_Do you have any idea what you do to me, Miah?_

“I suppose I will have to revoke my invitation for you to enter my room, then.”

Jeremiah scooted closer to Bruce, noses nearly touching. “What can I do to make sure that never happens?” His eyes were searching, longing. His tone was serious.

Bruce could hardly catch his breath.

_Will you meet me halfway, Bruce?_

Instead of answering, Bruce curled up into Jeremiah’s chest, wrapping his arms around him.

Jeremiah’s breath hitched momentarily before he squeezed his arms tightly around Bruce, his hand finding the back of Bruce's head to card through his hair.

Bruce felt like he was soaring when Jeremiah rested his head on top of his own.

“Bruce, I likewise have been thinking.”

Bruce pulled away, curious. “About?”

Jeremiah rested his head in his hand. “Based on the events that occurred yesterday, I do not trust the Senate to run an unbiased investigation into your father’s death. The fact is that immediately they were implying that someone within the palace, possibly yourself, committed this crime. I think we will have to take it into our own hands if we wish to find out the truth.”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Do you think someone in the Senate might have reason to murder my father?”

“I can’t definitively rule that out, but based on their hostility toward you on your first day in the Senate, I think they are trying to take advantage of your lack of political experience to discredit you and elect one of their own as Emperor.”

Bruce bit down on his lip. “I had no idea that my father was presiding over such a tempestuous body of representatives.”

Jeremiah nodded. “There’s just one problem with us investigating the murder on our own. We will likely need to start investigating the Senate first, while will cause alarm and instigate a great deal of pushback.”

“Certainly they want to find out who did this as much as we do?”

“Well, yes, unless they know who did it, and are trying to cover their tracks.” Jeremiah looked at Bruce, a solemn look on his face. “We cannot assume innocence with anyone.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “What are the stakes if we investigate on our own?”

Jeremiah contemplated this for a moment. “Best case scenario, we find out who the perpetrator is, while being blocked by the Senate along the way.” Jeremiah paused. “Worst case scenario, you lose your title as Emperor by actively undermining a so-called ‘unbiased investigation’.”

Bruce groaned, hiding his face in his hands. 

“More than anything, I have wanted to be Emperor and to make my father proud.” Bruce raised his head slightly. “It is still inconceivable to me that anyone would want him dead, let alone actively hinder the investigation to discover his killer.”

Jeremiah sighed. “I know. The position of Emperor is extremely sought-after, my lord. The temptation of great power leads people to commit heinous acts that perhaps they might not otherwise.”

“I guess.” Bruce looked up at Jeremiah. “As badly as I want to be Emperor - as I always have - I also want to find out who killed my father. I am willing to forsake all that I have if it means I can bring the killer to justice.”

Jeremiah’s face twisted. “Are you absolutely certain? There is no going back once we begin. I cannot guarantee your, my, or anyone’s safety. They were willing to kill the emperor and infiltrate this sacred palace; they could certainly do so again.”

Bruce sat up. “We’re more prepared, now, with increased reinforcements both within and without. At the very least, it will be more difficult for them to enter without anyone being alerted.”

Jeremiah nodded. “Do you want some time to think on it?”

Bruce’s eyes drifted over to where his father’s letter laid.

“I would appreciate that.”

Jeremiah stood. “I am more than happy to give you some privacy. Will you let me know once you have decided?”

“Of course, Miah.”

Jeremiah suddenly knelt down, taking Bruce’s hand and kissing the back of it deeply. “Will you promise me you will not shut me out again? I am fearful you will do so again upon my leaving.”

Bruce nodded profusely. “I promise, Miah.” He took Jeremiah’s hand in his and returned the gesture, laying his lips upon Jeremiah’s hand. “I just need some time to pray and ponder on this.”

“Of course, my lord.” Jeremiah stood once more. “Please let me know if you need or want anything.”

Bruce smiled. “I will.”

As Jeremiah left, Bruce headed to the shelves, unfurling the scroll Alfred had given him from his father.

Upon seeing his father’s handwriting, tears began pooling in his eyes. 

  


_My Dearest Son,_

_As I write this, I am preparing for the most important day of my political career. Tomorrow, I am to find out crucial information that will solidify my suspicions regarding the Senate and the corruption that I believe lies deep within. _

_If this information is true, I will be able to, once and for all, drive out the immoral characters that plague our great nation’s legislative body. However, I am concerned that I am being watched from afar, as if I were a bird being watched by a cat, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. _

_For this reason, I will give this letter to Alfred to deliver to you, should my worst fears be imagined. I have taken great pains to ensure no one will bring harm upon your head. _

_I hope you will one day find it in your soul to forgive me, for hiding you from the outside world, from the Senate, from my political life. In hindsight, while I am confidant no one will cause you harm before tomorrow, I should not have been so naive as to believe you would be protected from harm forever. _

_I pray you will not make the same mistake as me, in isolating oneself in order to protect the ones you love. I have learned that while it is a temporary solution in dire times, it should not be an automatic response. _

_Had I involved you from the beginning, rather than shielding you from my dealings in the Senate, perhaps together, we would have accomplished bringing the truth to light sooner. _

_I made the mistake of believing that I could accomplish all of this alone in order to ensure my family’s safety. Please, my son, learn from my mistakes._

_I sit here, having been informed by Alfred that you have invited me to dinner. I am deeply delighted and overjoyed to hear this, as it has been many years since we dined together in the great hall. _

_For so long, after your mother passed on to the afterlife, I had tried - and failed - to pull you out of your depression. Your response to her death was understandable - protecting yourself from emotional attachment by embracing logic, and only logic. _

_In the short time that Jeremiah has been here, I have seen a remarkable change in you. You are willing now, more than ever, to embrace your emotional side. _

_I am grateful that he is here, and I cannot thank him enough for all he has done for us as a family already._

_In all my time as Emperor, I have learned many things. I will pass on one to you now. And that is:_

_You cannot have both happiness and the truth. You have to choose. I beg of you, my son, please choose happiness. Unless… Unless you feel a calling. A true calling._

_I tried to make the choice for you, and lead you to a place where your only choice was happiness. But the choice, if Alfred has given you this letter, has been taken out of my hands, and placed firmly in yours. _

_It is your choice now, as to what path you follow. _

_One last piece of fatherly advice: If you meet a good man, keep him close. In these times, you will find these are most rare._

_Love,_

_Father_

  


Bruce placed the scroll gingerly back on the shelf before turning around to sob into his hands. 

For all his life, he had wanted to be Emperor.

But now, the weight of the responsibility seemed crushing.

* * *

Bruce stepped into the overhang outside of Jeremiah’s room.

Jeremiah was currently engrossed in Plato’s volume on logic, scribbling down notes as he read. 

“Having fun?” 

Jeremiah looked up, smiling.

“I have to admit, it is not in my usual reading repertoire, but it is fascinating all the same.” Jeremiah stood, crossing over to Bruce. “You’re welcome to come in, you know.”

Bruce hesitated. “Only if you - “

“Yes, I’m sure.” With that, Jeremiah pulled Bruce by the wrist into his quarters.

When Jeremiah stopped suddenly, Bruce ran straight into him.

“Oof! Sorry - _mmph_.“ Bruce’s voice was muffled as he was pulled into a tight hug into Jeremiah’s chest.

Bruce felt a kiss being laid on the top of his head. A hand massaged the back of Bruce’s head.

Warm puffs of air grazed his ear. 

“Your Majesty,” Jeremiah breathed huskily. “I agreed to meet you halfway. But do not misunderstand me.” 

Jeremiah shuddered, his hands moving to Bruce’s lower back, pulling him in by his hips. “It is _tortuous_ to be so close to you, knowing my depraved imagination runs wild with what I wish to do to you.” 

Jeremiah pulled back slightly, inhaling shakily as he laid a gentle kiss on Bruce’s forehead.

Then he let go, turning away to sit on his cushion.

Bruce closed his eyes briefly, willing away the beginnings of arousal stirring within.

Once Jeremiah sat down, Bruce opened his eyes, joining him on the cushion.

“Have you decided, then?” 

Bruce nodded. “I want to find out the truth. No matter what it takes.”

Jeremiah gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad. I feel the same as you.”

“I suppose I am unsure where to start our investigation.” Bruce bit his lip in thought.

A knock on the wall broke his thoughts. 

“Master Bruce, Jeremiah, I would like to show you something.” Alfred’s voice floated in from the overhang.

“Come in, Alfred,” said Jeremiah. 

Alfred entered, carrying a scroll. “I have here your father’s schedule on the day of his passage to the afterlife.” 

Bruce gasped. “Is that not the day he had planned after the night we had dinner?”

Alfred nodded. “I have looked it over, and all the meetings listed here are typical for his daily routine. All but one, that is.”

He unfurled the scroll, pointing at the last item listed.

Bruce squinted. “A dinner…with Senator Selina Kyle?”

“That is correct, my lord.” Alfred stepped back. “That was decidedly out of his routine. I believe it merits investigation.”

Bruce was ecstatic. “Thank you, Alfred. We had just been wondering how to begin our investigation into my father’s death.”

Alfred nodded once before taking leave. 

Jeremiah jumped up. “Bruce, this is wonderful! I feel our best course of action at the moment is to schedule a meeting with her, to see what she might know.”

Bruce smiled, finding Jeremiah’s enthusiasm endearing. “I agree.”

Jeremiah sat back down, a pensive look dampening his features.

“Before that, however, we need to make a plan of attack.” Jeremiah looked to Bruce. “As we are operating in relative secrecy to discover your father’s killer, we must tread cautiously. We must become familiar with reconnaissance and interrogative tactics, and how to utilize them to get the information we need.”

Bruce nodded in acknowledgment. “What would that entail?”

A smile crept up on Jeremiah’s face. “Why, philosophy is our best teacher when it comes to matters such as these.” 

Bruce chuckled. “The utility of that branch of knowledge continues to astound me.”

“I did inform you of this, did I not?” 

Bruce huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, you are correct.”

Jeremiah grew quiet. “You may not want to hear this, Bruce, but you will likely have to resort to…less-than-virtuous acts and words to discover the truth.”

Bruce swallowed. “I cannot say I like the sound of that.”

“I know.” Jeremiah sighed. “Philosophy can teach us about emotional manipulation. It is simply a matter of identifying what others want, and then using that to extort what we need from them.”

_You cannot have both happiness and the truth. You have to choose._

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. “I suppose I will need all the help I can get when it comes to that, then.”

Jeremiah grinned. “Thankfully, I am in fact able to assist with that.”

“Mildly worrisome that you have some skills in that arena.” Bruce pursed his lips.

The smile fell. “I would never - could never - use that on you.” Jeremiah drew nearer to him. “As I said, teaching is more my specialty. The implementation of such things I leave to others, unless absolutely necessary in cases such as this.” 

Jeremiah reached up, tucking a hair behind Bruce’s ear. “Besides, I did already say I could never lie to you, did I not?”

Jeremiah leaned into Bruce’s space. “What can I do to help you see the truth in my words?”

Bruce did not realize until then that he had forgotten to breathe.

“I…” Bruce’s gaze flicked between Jeremiah’s eyes. “I think the only antidote for that is time.”

Jeremiah nodded solemnly, backing away. 

“I understand.”

Bruce cleared his throat, ducking his head. “We should likewise think about my next address to the Senate. Yesterday’s session did not go quite as planned.”

Jeremiah smiled. “I already have some ideas.”

Bruce looked up at him. “I’m ready to get started whenever you are.”

Jeremiah pulled Bruce’s hand to him, kissing the back of it. “I will always be ready for you, my lord.”


	11. Chapter 11

The sun streaming in his room woke Bruce up from slumber.

He arose, a bit annoyed about waking up with the sun in his eyes.

When he looked down, he realized he’d fallen asleep with _Rhetorica Ad Herennium_ still in his grasp.

He was eager to improve on his speech from before.

A knock on the wall startled him.

“Your Majesty?” Jeremiah’s head peered around the corner of the wall to his room. 

Bruce smiled. “Good morning, Miah. You have excellent timing.”

“To that, I certainly endeavor.” Jeremiah walked in, seeming comfortable being in Bruce’s quarters after only a day of being invited in.

“I thought today we would start with manipulation tactics. You have a good handle on the content of your speeches; some fine-tuning is all that’s required to delight the audience into agreeing with you. We can work on that later.” Jeremiah stepped toward Bruce. “But with emotional manipulation, I can tell you’re quite new.”

Bruce bristled. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” Jeremiah smiled. “It’s endearing, Bruce. You’d rather win others over with logic. Unfortunately, with the situation as dire as it is, we do not have the luxury of upholding virtue at all times.” 

Jeremiah circled around where Bruce was standing. “One misconstrued phrase - one compliment - could be the difference between cracking the case, or being stranded in the no man’s land of knowledge forever.” 

Bruce felt a hand trace along his back, following the path of Jeremiah’s pacing.

“Bruce.” Suddenly, Jeremiah pulled Bruce backward, pinning Bruce so that his back was flush with Jeremiah’s chest. “You have all the opportunities and privilege in the world.” 

Bruce felt a hand slip up from his waist to his neck, tracing lines up to his jawline. “Power, as the Emperor. Wealth, being born into the royal family.”

Jeremiah spun him around, trapping Bruce with one arm encircled fully around his waist. 

“Youth.” Jeremiah, with his free hand, cupped Bruce’s chin.

Blood rushed to Bruce’s face, coursing through to his extremities, pooling low in his stomach.

“Beauty.” Jeremiah traced his thumb up Bruce’s chin, dragging it slowly, lightly, across Bruce’s lips.

Bruce recalled the dinner with him from weeks ago.

_Maybe…_

Bruce parted his lips slightly, and Jeremiah pushed his thumb in. Bruce circled his tongue around him, and sucked lightly.

Jeremiah breathed out heavily, closing his eyes as he laid his forehead against Bruce’s. 

This spurred Bruce on, sucking in even more of him and humming softly around it.

Jeremiah let out a low moan, which sent even more blood and warmth through Bruce’s body, shooting to the place below his stomach.

Bruce was utterly entranced by the sight of Jeremiah letting completely go of his inhibitions. 

Jeremiah’s eyes flicked open.

“Bruce.”

Bruce opened his mouth slightly, waiting.

Jeremiah slowly pulled his thumb away, closing his eyes once more with a heavy exhale. “You could fell kingdoms with all that you are.”

Jeremiah opened his eyes, stepping back to pace once more.

Bruce willed his chest to stop its incessant pounding.

“You need to capitalize on the gifts with which you have been bestowed, and leverage them to get what you want. You have a kind, trusting face; a disarming charm; a persona that screams naivete.” 

Jeremiah swung around to meet Bruce’s eyes, stepping toward him. “Others will underestimate you because of these qualities. Thus, the element of surprise - of you mastering emotional manipulation - will put them on their back foot.”

Jeremiah perched himself on the edge of the reclining couch. “Let’s role play.” He patted the seat next to him.

Bruce, with no small amount of hesitation, took his seat next to Jeremiah.

Weeks ago, Jeremiah had said the same words during their first lesson together.

Now, so much had changed. 

Bruce’s chest beat loudly, and he tried subtly to catch his breath again.

“Let us pretend you are at dinner with Ms. _Selina_ Kyle.” Bruce didn’t miss the edge to his voice when speaking her name. “And you want to get information out of her regarding the intent of the dinner scheduled with your father.”

Jeremiah leaned back, a smug smirk painted on. “How would you convince her to tell you what you want to know?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Short of just asking her?” 

Jeremiah chuckled. “Yes. Rule number one, Bruce: People will never tell you things unless it benefits them in some way. _Quid pro quo_.”

“I see.” Bruce thought for a moment. “I’m not sure what she would want in exchange.”

Jeremiah pursed his lips, looking down as he traced patterns in the fabric on the couch. “Are you truly that naive, Bruce? We talked of her but once, and I know _exactly_ what she wants.”

“What, then?” Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly. He was increasingly becoming annoyed with the condescension radiating off of Jeremiah.

Jeremiah met his eyes. “You, of course.”

“Me? I - “ 

Bruce remembered his father.

_Selina asked after you. Not one dinner with her, after all these years?_

Bruce swallowed. “I see.”

Jeremiah smiled. “Knowing this, how would you use that to your advantage to get the information from her?”

Bruce was at a loss.

“Oh, Bruce,” Jeremiah tutted, “let me make this simpler for you.” 

He drew himself up. “I will role play as you, and you Selina.”

Bruce nodded slowly. 

Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Please, my dear, take a seat. It’s wonderful to be sharing a meal together at last.” He gestured to where Bruce was already sitting.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“I trust you had a good day today during the Senate proceedings? I’m sorry I couldn’t be there - I had much to do, what with getting ready for this lovely dinner with you.” Jeremiah scooted closer. 

Bruce belatedly realized that Jeremiah was expecting an answer. “It was good, actually. I am happy to finally be sitting down with you after all these years.”

Jeremiah crooked a smile, his eyes crinkling. “I could not agree more.” 

He reached out to Bruce, both hands palms-up, gesturing to Bruce’s hands. “May I?”

Bruce was puzzled, but lifted up one hand to him anyway.

Jeremiah took hold of it, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

As his hand was released, Bruce was met with a smoldering, intense gaze.

Bruce, well and truly, felt trapped in the spider’s web of this complex game of emotional chess.

Jeremiah sat back a bit. “I’ve heard you’ve done remarkable work in the Senate, in the short time you’ve been appointed to the position.”

Bruce nodded. “It is something I had always dreamed of - representing the people of Rome so that I may fight for the common man.”

“Amazing.”

Bruce tilted his head, confused. “How so?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Most in the Senate don’t view it that way at all. To many, it is a path to retaining power.” Jeremiah pulled himself up. “It is rare to find someone who genuinely signs up for such a position and lacks ulterior motive.”

Bruce broke his gaze, thinking on the ramifications of such a statement.

Jeremiah laughed. “My dear senator, do not trouble yourself pondering such depressing thoughts.” 

He reached out to Bruce, cupping his face and caressing his cheekbone with his thumb.

“You have already done well for yourself by holding such an office on merit alone. Let us not dwell on the motives of others.” Jeremiah lowered his hand, only to place it over Bruce’s resting in his lap.

Bruce felt his body heating up again. He hated that this was actually working.

“Now, you must tell me how you were able to defeat your opponent in your local election. Not that I ever had any doubt that you would win.” Jeremiah’s fingers spread in and out, massaging the back of Bruce’s hand. “Did I hear correctly that your opponent had been accused of manufacturing votes, which disqualified him?”

Bruce cleared his throat, trying not to look down at his hand. “Yes. But even if he had kept those false votes, he would not have won. It was very much a landslide win.”

Jeremiah’s hand slowly slid down from Bruce’s hand onto his bare leg, just above his knee. 

_Damn, he’s so warm._

He was so very close, yet so far, from where Bruce wanted his hand to be. Even so, his arousal spiked, heat trickling down his spine to his very core.

“I cannot say I’m surprised.” Jeremiah leaned into Bruce’s space, his fingers kneading Bruce’s bare skin. “Your ideas for lifting our citizens out of poverty are noble and commendable. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to cast doubt on your virtuous character.”

Bruce laid his head back against the couch, lips parted, his breathing heavy.

“That means a lot to me, since it comes from you.” 

Jeremiah leaned in to whisper in Bruce’s ear, his breath hot against Bruce’s cheek.

“Do you know how long I have waited to have this opportunity? And to think, it was all thanks to my father scheduling a dinner with you, when really, it should have been with me.” 

Jeremiah leaned his forehead against Bruce’s temple, his breath ghosting along Bruce’s neck. “What had that dinner been all about, anyway? Just fascinating to think about, is all.”

Bruce’s eyes widened suddenly.

_Oh._

His blood burned hot, but rather from arousal, it was from fury.

_He tricked me. How many others had he seduced in this way?_

“Miah. Out.”

Jeremiah leaned back, his brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Bruce stood, Jeremiah’s hand slipping from his thigh. “You’re not welcome here.”

Jeremiah’s jaw clenched. “And why, pray tell, would that be?”

“You’re not deserving of an explanation.” Bruce grit his teeth. “I said, out.”

Jeremiah rose, advancing on Bruce. “Why should I?” His eyes were narrowed to slits.

“Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

Jeremiah huffed a laugh. “Try me.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice that had not been there before.

Bruce clenched his fist, and punched Jeremiah in the face.

Jeremiah was knocked back, his hands coming up to where he had been hurt.

“_Wow_, Bruce.” Jeremiah’s voice was slightly muffled.

When he removed his hands from his face, Bruce saw red coming out from his nose and spilling onto his fingers.

Jeremiah chuckled to himself, brushing the back of his hand against his upper lip.

“You have absolutely _no _idea who you’re dealing with, _my dear_.”

As Jeremiah drew closer, Bruce raised a hand.

“Guards!” Within seconds, three guardsmen had emerged from the hall, dragging Jeremiah out of the room.

“You promised me.” Jeremiah choked out, voice gritty.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“That you would _not_ shut me out again.”

Bruce sent him a glare. “That was before you showed me who you truly are.”

Jeremiah clicked his jaw. “Careful, Bruce. Your _trust issues_ are showing,” he seethed. 

Bruce turned away. “Take him to his room.”

The guardsmen left with Jeremiah, who - blessedly - stayed silent as they dragged him down the hall.

* * *

“Alfred,” Bruce called out, hours later.

Footsteps padded to Bruce’s room. 

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“I require a pitcher of wine and a goblet, at your earliest convenience.”

Alfred ducked his head. “Certainly, sir. What, may I ask, is the occasion?”

Bruce looked up at that, smirking. “A triumph of logic over emotion, my friend.”

Alfred pursed his lips. “I see, my lord. I shall fetch that for you immediately.”

Alfred scurried away, leaving Bruce feeling back in control of his own destiny.

* * *

An hour later, and Bruce was feeling emboldened.

He kicked away the empty pitcher of wine, squinting as he fumbled his way to the hallway.

As he walked, he kept a hand against the wall for balance, limping slightly as he headed down the hall.

He was feeling _good_. And he wanted to prove it to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah, who had lied to him. Who had never meant a word of what he had said.

And all for…_what?_

Bruce stopped, wondering what Jeremiah was really after.

Then, he shrugged. That wasn’t quite as important as knowing he had seduced him, and likely many other hapless individuals who had something he wanted.

He started down the hall again, reinvigorated with purpose.

* * *

Bruce took the last few steps to get to Jeremiah’s room before Jeremiah poked his head from around the corner. 

“_Oh_, look who it - Bruce?” 

Jeremiah’s smug expression turned into a pained one.

One of…concern? Bruce wasn’t sure. 

It didn’t matter. It was all a facade. 

“You - “ Bruce hiccuped, “are _such_ a liaaaar.” 

It was worth it to see Jeremiah’s eyes widen as they did now. 

“Bruce.” Jeremiah’s expression turned severe. “You did _not_ just show up drunk to my room.”

Bruce let out a rolling laugh. “And what if I did?” He said in a sing-song manner.

Jeremiah’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “You complete and _utter_ imbecile.” 

Jeremiah steered Bruce into his room by the shoulders.

“Heeeey! Why didja - “

Bruce’s back slammed hard against what he guessed was a wall.

Jeremiah had him pinned down by the shoulders.

“Ow, that hurt! I feel soooo dizzy…”

“Quiet.”

Bruce lazily opened one eye. “That’s not very nice to say to - “

A finger pressed hard against his lips, effectively hushing him.

“You truly have _no_ idea what you have just done, do you?”

“Nuh-uh!” Bruce grinned happily up at Jeremiah. It was downright _funny _seeing Jeremiah like this.

“You _do_ realize, Your Majesty,” Jeremiah crept closer, pulling Bruce flush against him with one arm around his waist, “that you are completely and _utterly_ vulnerable right now, to any forms of attack or assault.”

Bruce pouted, feeling the blood pool into a particularly neglected area of his body in response to his touch. “So?”

Jeremiah carded a hand through Bruce’s hair before roughly pulling on it, forcing his head back. “Have you forgotten that this very palace was the one in which your father lay, sleeping and _vulnerable_, in the moments leading up to his murder? And that we have yet to find his killer?” 

Jeremiah’s low, gruff voice, combined with the onslaught of sensation from being pressed up against him, was all too much for Bruce.

He keened, pressing himself against Jeremiah, groaning at the pressure he felt against his cock.

It provided some relief, but not nearly enough.

“Miah,” he panted, meeting Jeremiah’s eyes.

Jeremiah froze, eyes widening.

“Bruce.” He abruptly let go of Bruce, who nearly fell to the ground. “I - no. _No_. You should go back to your room.”

As Jeremiah turned away, Bruce stomped toward his retreating figure.

“How about,” Bruce hiccuped, “you tell me who else you’ve tried to seduce.”

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me?” He turned around, stepping toward Bruce.

“Tell me all their names, who they were to you. What you wanted from them. Just like how you did to me.” Bruce slurred his words, briefly losing his balance before recovering by leaning forward.

Jeremiah caught him. “You should go to sleep, Bruce. We can talk tomorrow.”

Bruce sighed, exasperated. “No! We talk _now_. Spill it.”

Jeremiah clenched his jaw. “I have a feeling you won’t believe me when I tell you.”

“Try me.” Bruce smirked up at him.

“No one.”

Bruce stood, mouth aghast. “Whaaat?”

“I am completely serious.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Then how - “

“My brother taught me how to “woo” people, as he called it, when we were children. But that doesn’t mean I have ever used it.”

Bruce tilted his head in the other direction, still confused. “Why would your _brother_ teach you how to woo people?”

Jeremiah exhaled, blowing it through his lips. “He was the manipulative type. I think it made him feel powerful, so he shared that knowledge with me. He’s always wanted me to be just like him.”

“Well, it worked,” Bruce spat out.

Jeremiah clenched his fists at his sides. “I - you know what? No. I won’t bother dignifying that with a response. I am going to sleep. You do whatever you like. Just leave me alone.”

With that, Jeremiah laid down on his cushion on the floor, closing his eyes.

“Hey! We’re not done talking yet!”

Jeremiah ignored him.

Bruce sighed, sinking down to the ground next to the cushion.

“You are just…so _smart_, Miah. You do, truly, have a brilliant mind. I merely do not wish to be tricked, is all.”

Jeremiah’s eyes fluttered open, looking at Bruce.

“Bruce, you know you have always had a choice. You are not forced to keep me here, if you do not like me.” Jeremiah sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. “So why do you allow me to stay?”

Bruce considered this for a long moment.

“And you’re not allowed to say that your father would have wanted it.”

Bruce stared down at his lap.

“You…you make me feel things. That I have never felt, in all my life.” Bruce sighed. “It scares me.”

Jeremiah nodded. “I feel the same, Bruce. What I feel when I’m with you feels different than anything I have ever experienced in my life.” 

Jeremiah sat up fully. “It scares me, too. But I choose to run toward it, even if it means I might get hurt.”

“When I hold you, when I touch you, it is because I want to. Because I want to feel close to you.” Jeremiah swallowed. “I have everything to lose if things go wrong. You are the Emperor, the great Caesar, the ruler of all of Rome. What you command is done, with no hesitation. I could lose my livelihood and even my life.”

“I think you take for granted that you hold all the power here. Maybe because you are not used to it. You’ve been estranged from the outside world all your life, so you are not aware of the weight your name, your title, holds.”

Jeremiah sighed. “Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be living in the royal palace, tutoring the heir to the throne, only for me to grow to care for him beyond what could be considered platonic. I am truly and forever grateful that I met you at all, Your Highness. If you wish to throw me out, I can live with that, though I very much hope against hope that you do not.”

Bruce turned to face Jeremiah, eyes downcast.

After a long moment, Bruce exhaled.

“Can I…can I stay with you tonight?”

Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “Of course. You’re always welcome to stay with me, Bruce.”

Bruce laid down next to him on the cushion, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Never forget, you hold all the power here.” Jeremiah laid a hand between them on the cushion, palm up. “This is all for you, Bruce.”

Bruce laid his hand on top of Jeremiah’s, smiling gently as he closed his eyes and drifted off.

* * *

Bruce woke up during the night, confused that the ceiling did not look like his own.

Then, he turned, and saw Jeremiah, and remembered.

Jeremiah’s face was slack as he slept. 

He looked so… at peace.

Bruce smiled, and then looked down at himself.

_Great_. His cock was pressing up against his tunic, tenting it slightly.

Bruce nearly groaned. This was most certainly _not _the time for this to happen.

Though, now that he thought about it…

Bruce gripped himself through his tunic, facing Jeremiah fully.

_God_, his jawline must have been etched from stone. Bruce wished he could trace a finger along it, but did not want to risk waking him.

Instead, he focused on Jeremiah’s broad shoulders and chest. So strong…strong enough to pin him against the wall, numerous times. Strong enough to press him flush against his chest, with just one arm.

Bruce grit his teeth as he pushed up his tunic to grip himself more fully, slipping underneath his undergarments. 

Then, Jeremiah breathed out loudly through his mouth, and Bruce quickly flipped himself over, facing away from him.

_That was way too close._

Bruce waited a few moments for Jeremiah’s breathing to even out again before resuming his ministrations. 

He scooted back a bit, hoping to feel Jeremiah’s warm body against his, needing any sort of reminder of his presence to help drive him to completion.

Instead, the most he could feel was Jeremiah’s arms, splayed out in front of him, but that would do for now.

As best as he could, Bruce tried to regulate his breathing, taking care not to rock or disturb the cushion with his movements.

Suddenly, Bruce felt movement behind him.

An arm slid over his shoulder.

“Bruce?”

He froze, hoping that if he stayed perfectly still, Jeremiah would fall back asleep.

It was not to be.

Bruce was pulled back into Jeremiah’s chest, the arm pinning him flush against Jeremiah.

A hand moved up to Bruce’s neck, fingers pressing down lightly on the delicate skin.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Jeremiah hummed as he unhurriedly took Bruce’s ear lobe into his mouth.

Bruce moaned as he took himself in hand again, mouth open as he sped up his hand over himself.

Jeremiah’s hand fluttered against Bruce’s pulse points along his neck, gently pushing down.

_Fuck_, this was so much hotter than when he was by himself doing this.

Jeremiah let go of his ear lobe, breathing hot and heavy into his ear. His hand moved up Bruce’s neck to grip his chin, angling it up.

“Bruce. May I see you?”

Bruce slowed down his movements, confused at the question.

Jeremiah’s hand drifted down to Bruce’s shoulder, gently pressing down on it. 

Bruce slid onto his back, face turned towards Jeremiah.

Jeremiah lowered his head, looking Bruce up and down, before meeting his eyes.

“Bruce, you are absolutely…_breathtaking_.”

Bruce bit back a moan, pressing his lips together as he continued pulsing his hand up and down.

Jeremiah nestled himself beside Bruce, mouth grazing his ear.

“Let me hear you, Bruce. Don’t hide it. Let _go_.”

Bruce groaned, pumping himself furiously, not caring about how loud he was anymore.

_Fuck_, he was _so close_, but his orgasm was eluding him.

It frustrated him to no end.

“Miah,” he breathed. “_Please._”

Jeremiah propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand reaching down for Bruce’s free one.

Jeremiah pulled, leading Bruce’s hand to his mouth.

He sucked in one of Bruce’s fingers, swirling his tongue around the tip, moaning as he did so.

Bruce came undone, jerking as his orgasm rolled through him, his gasps and moans filling the silence around them. 

All the while, Jeremiah didn’t stop sucking, even as Bruce came down from his high.

As Jeremiah finally pulled himself off Bruce’s finger, Bruce whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Miah,” Bruce panted.

“Hm?” 

“Thank you.”

Bruce heard his smile through his words. “Of course.”

Bruce yawned, then sat up.

“Wait, what about you?”

Jeremiah’s eyes fluttered open as he gave a shy grin. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s go back to sleep. After all, we have a long day tomorrow.”

Bruce sighed. “You’re quite right.” 

Bruce felt Jeremiah’s hand run gently through his hair just as he was nodding off once more.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Bruce crept out of Jeremiah’s room, hurrying to his quarters to start preparations for the day ahead.

“Alfred,” Bruce called out some time later.

Alfred appeared from around the corner. “Yes, my lord?”

“Please deliver this letter to Senator Selina Kyle. I am requesting a dinner with her tonight here in the dining hall.” Bruce handed him a scroll.

Alfred bowed low. “Consider it done, sir.”

Bruce nodded, turning back to his reading of _Rhetorica ad Herennium_.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and Bruce hadn’t seen Jeremiah all day. 

He was getting nervous; he had an important question to ask of him that couldn’t wait much longer.

A knock resounded on his wall, startling him.

“Good evening, Bruce.” Jeremiah strolled in. 

Bruce stood. “I had not seen you all day. I was beginning to worry.”

Jeremiah wore a sheepish smile. “I assumed you might need time to yourself before tonight’s dinner.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “How would you feel about accompanying me to dinner?”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “I…I cannot say I understand why that would be necessary. Surely my presence would distract from you retrieving the information from her.”

“I would appreciate some backup, should things go awry. Like they did in the Senate.” Bruce smiled.

“I am at your service, Your Majesty. Though I highly doubt you will need my assistance with this. All she needs is a little push, and she will certainly reveal the intent of the dinner with your father.” 

Bruce swallowed. “That is all we can hope for.”

“Your Grace,” Alfred called through the entrance to Bruce’s quarters, “Selina has accepted your invitation and will be here within the hour.”

Bruce straightened. “Thank you, Alfred. Please set the table for three.”

Jeremiah turned to him. “Where would you like me to sit?”

“Next to me, if you would. I would prefer to be across from her so that I may best gauge her reactions.”

Jeremiah nodded, placing his hand along the side of Bruce’s neck, his thumb lightly brushing his jawline. “I know you will do wonderfully tonight.”

Bruce had to stifle a shiver. 

“Let us wait for her at the table.” Bruce pulled away, hoping that the warmth heating his face was not as obvious as he feared it would be.

* * *

A guardsman approached the table with haste.

“Your Highness, Senator Selina Kyle has arrived. She has requested you accompany her from her cart to the dinner.”

Bruce rose, sighing. “Sounds like Selina to me. I will do so.”

Jeremiah stood as well. “I will go with you, my lord.”

Bruce nodded at him before heading down the hall to the south entrance of the palace.

* * *

When they reached the south entrance, Selina was waiting just outside.

Bruce swallowed. She had certainly dressed the part.

Selina had donned a long, mermaid-style gown, a deep burgundy accented with golden flecks. A sash along her waist emphasized her hips, and her sleeves were sheer and matched the gold accents along the rest of the gown. 

Her hair - which had always been curly, nearly to the point of unruly - was pinned back slightly, with the exception of two curls framing the sides of her face.

“Your Highness,” Selina smiled, sizing Bruce up from head to toe, “you’ve certainly grown.”

Bruce nodded to her. “Likewise.”

_Rule number two: If you know what they want, tease the possibility that you will give it to them._

He smiled appreciatively at her, his gaze lingering on her hips.

_Pretend it’s Miah. Pretend it’s Miah._

“Will you walk me to our table, Your Grace?”

Bruce ducked his head. “Only if you promise me you will call me Bruce.”

Selina smirked, looping her arm around his. “That must be a trick question, as that is all I have ever called you till as of late.”

Bruce glanced over at Jeremiah, whose lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Selina, this is Jeremiah Valeska. You surely saw him at the Senate proceedings the other day.”

Selina, for some reason, took on a pained expression, despite her lips being drawn into a smile. “I did indeed. I was…_unaware_ we would be having company at our dinner, Bruce.” Her eyes never left Jeremiah’s.

Jeremiah’s expression mirrored Selina’s, the smile never reaching his eyes. “As a _personal_ adviser to the Emperor, it is my duty to assist him in _any_ way he so desires.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed at Jeremiah.

_Do not mess this up for me, Miah._

He turned back to Selina. “As long as I am seated with you, I care not who else may join.”

Selina finally returned her gaze to Bruce. “I am glad to hear it, Bruce.”

Bruce led her down the hall to the table, Jeremiah not far behind.

* * *

When they took their seats at the table, Selina was placed opposite of Bruce, with Jeremiah seated next to him.

Selina wore a puzzled look. “Bruce, why do you not sit at the head of the table?”

Bruce gazed at the chair which once belonged to his father.

“It does not seem right to sit in. It is my father’s - it does not feel like mine.”

Selina looked down for a moment before meeting Bruce’s eyes. “You are Caesar now, are you not?”

Bruce nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “I suppose you are right.”

“Besides,” she added, a lilt to her voice, “it would seat you next to me.” Oddly enough, she glanced across the table to Jeremiah.

Bruce smiled. “You’re right, of course.” 

As he stood and moved to his right to sit in the royal chair, he caught a glimpse of Jeremiah, whose jaw was taut.

Without being prompted, Jeremiah rose to sit next to Bruce, putting him now opposite of Selina.

The air between them crackled with tension. Bruce was decidedly uncomfortable sitting between them.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to invite Jeremiah to the dinner.

Bruce cleared his throat, prompting Alfred and the other servants to bring in the trays of food.

“My lord, would you like to partake in wine tonight?”

It took Bruce all his might not to glance Jeremiah’s way. “Only if the lady deems it so.” He faced Selina fully, gesturing to her for the decision.

Selina chuckled. “A night with you is always cause for celebration.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could tell Jeremiah was balling his hands into fists, flexing them occasionally.

Bruce nodded to Alfred. “We will partake, then.”

“Very good, sir.” More servants brought out a pitcher of wine along with goblets.

Bruce made to pour wine into their goblets when Selina held up a hand.

“The Emperor should not have to pour his own drink.” Selina gestured to Jeremiah. “Perhaps his personal _assistant_ might do the honors?”

Based on Jeremiah’s long look her way, Bruce deduced she was most certainly getting to him.

Then, he leveled a devilish smirk her way. “As his political and personal _adviser_, I am delighted to be of service to His Highness.”

He rose, pouring wine into each of the goblets before sitting back down.

* * *

After they finished their meals, Alfred cleared away the trays.

Bruce edged his chair closer to Selina, laying his forearm on the table. “Thank you for joining me for dinner. It has been far too long.”

Selina nodded, leaning in to close her hand over Bruce’s. “I could not agree more.”

She paused. “My dear Bruce, I am so terribly sorry for the loss of your father. He was a truly good man, and we have felt his absence in the Senate.” 

Her hand squeezed gently around his.

Bruce sneaked a look at Jeremiah. By now, he had sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap.

The only indication of Jeremiah feeling anything but neutral about the situation was his narrowed eyes.

Bruce flicked his gaze back to Selina. “I greatly appreciate that, Selina.” 

He flipped his hand over, taking hold of hers. “More than you know.”

Jeremiah exhaled noisily, causing Selina to glance to him briefly before returning her look to Bruce.

“As much as I dearly enjoy the time we have spent together,” Selina said, “I assume that I have not been brought here for merely entertainment purposes, given _his_ presence here with us tonight.” 

She jerked her head to Jeremiah, and he made a show of cracking his neck.

_I am surrounded by infants_, thought Bruce.

Bruce pulled back. “You have guessed correctly. I know you had plans to meet with my father the day of his passing.”

Selina nodded solemnly. “That is true.”

Bruce flicked his eyes over to Jeremiah, who now was leaning forward over the table, his elbows propping him up.

“Jeremiah and I have been attempting to track down my father’s killer, and we thought perhaps we could glean some useful information from those who were on his schedule the following day.” Bruce met her eyes.

Selina cracked a smile. “So I see.” She sat back in her chair, arms crossed. “The Senate will not be pleased if they knew you were conducting an investigation without their oversight.”

Bruce looked deep into her eyes. 

_You have a kind and trusting face; a disarming charm; a persona that screams naivete. Use it._

Selina looked down briefly, then sighed heavily.

“I suppose, for an old friend, I can tell you what I know. Besides,” she added, “my campaign to become Speaker is being actively undermined by those whom I suspect might know something related to your father’s assassination.”

Bruce lit up. “You have my eternal gratitude for coming forward with what you know. I know it cannot be easy, with the Senate so clearly against my running the investigation.”

Selina raised a finger. “I do have one condition. But we will discuss that later. For now, I will tell you what I know.”

Bruce leaned forward. 

_Finally, a clue into who was involved with my father’s death._

“Have you ever heard of RELAC?”

Bruce tilted his head, puzzled. “I…cannot say that I have.” Bruce glanced at Jeremiah. “Have you?”

Jeremiah shook his head.

Selina nodded. “It is not something you would know of unless you were familiar with senatorial operations.”

“RELAC is a domineering force in the Senate. It is an advisory council made up of five senators, including myself, and representatives of five profitable Roman businesses. We regularly meet to discuss the politics of the day and the concerns these organizations have regarding public policy governing their existence.”

“What does it stand for?” Bruce couldn’t help but ask.

“RELAC is the Roman Executive and Legislative Advisory Council.” She pursed her lips. “Executive indicating the businesses tied to the council, and legislative indicating their partnership with the senators.” 

“It sounds fairly harmless.” Bruce and Selina turned to Jeremiah. “There are many councils within the body of the Senate, with various special interests represented by each. Cicero often advocated for them, in fact.”

Selina nodded. “You are not wrong. But we have yet to get to the intent of my meeting with the former Emperor.”

She turned back to Bruce. “Your father was investigating potential corruption occurring within RELAC. He sensed that it had a disproportionate impact on the bills brought to the floor of the Senate, but had no concrete evidence to back up his suspicions.”

“I had informed the late Caesar, in passing, that I had evidence that would show RELAC’s extensive involvement in what bills were brought to the floor, which were passed, and which were killed.” She paused. “He believed that no single council should be dictating all of public policy, all to benefit a few corporations. It was something that had plagued his mind for many years.”

Jeremiah spoke up once more. “Why would you suddenly choose to divulge such information to the Emperor, when you had had ample opportunity to do so as a member of the council before now?”

Selina recrossed her arms, pursing her lips. “RELAC was Oswald Cobblepot’s invention. I had no issue with him, or with any of the other senators on the council. In addition, one of the companies represented on the council, Underwood Grain, was instrumental in my winning my local election. Supporting them and the council’s efforts would guarantee their continued support of my senatorial career.”

“However,” she said icily, “I discovered recently that the Speaker is secretly funding my opponent’s campaign in the local elections coming up.” She clenched her jaw. “I no longer hold any allegiance to him, or to the council’s activities. Therefore, I decided to meet with your father at his request, so that I might reveal what I knew to him.”

Bruce nodded solemnly, stroking his chin. “What evidence do you have, then, that supports my father’s speculation?”

She drew several scrolls from her satchel, placing them on the table in front of Bruce. “These documents show a clear connection between bills introduced on the floor of the Senate, and initial drafts of proposals made by the companies to the council that are, word-for-word, what ended up appearing in front of the Senate. And it is not hard to deduce that the bills here would disproportionately benefit the companies on the council.”

Bruce unfurled one of the scrolls, Jeremiah taking one for himself to look over.

Jeremiah tilted the scroll toward Selina. “Is this the names of those on the council and the companies represented within it?”

Selina nodded. “You’re quite correct. These,” she pointed, “are the five senators on the council, one of them being myself. The other five names are the representatives from the five companies I mentioned. Next to each one, you’ll see the name of the company they represent, one of them being Underwood Grain.”

Bruce set down his scroll. “Do you have any intuition as to who might know more about my father’s death?” 

“Sadly, no, Your Majesty.” She sighed. “All of the companies listed have drafted proposals that were directly copied and placed on the Senate floor for consideration. No one company seems to appear to be disproportionately influencing the bills coming out of the council, and no one company seems to be disproportionately benefited compared to the others by the legislation that is passed. All representatives from them have had a hand in the proposals that eventually are drafted and presented to the Senate for deliberation. I cannot rule out any individual company, based on my years on the council.”

Her face twisted. “What is odd is that no company on this list would have benefited from your father’s murder. He did not make efforts to block the legislation drafted by members of the council. Perhaps he had had suspicions early on that if he did, there would be consequences, especially considering the Speaker is a member of RELAC.”

“Perhaps,” Jeremiah chimed in, “someone on the council found out about your meeting with him, and made arrangements to have him killed before he could find out.”

Selina worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Still, I am not convinced that the punishment would have fit the crime. Killing the sitting Emperor over suspicions that he _might_ find out about their activities seems like a huge gamble.”

Jeremiah laid his head in his hand. “Unless they had someone in mind to replace the Emperor upon his death and unseat his heir to the throne by discrediting him.” He glanced at Bruce. “It would explain why the Senate was unusually hostile to you on your first day in the Senate.”

Selina fiddled with one of the sleeves on her gown. “I’m still not convinced that someone on the council - whether company or senator - would orchestrate such an elaborate plan without a more compelling reason for killing the Emperor, and gambling on his heir to be inept enough to merely submit to a new Emperor being placed on the throne.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Coups are not an infrequent occurrence in our empire, as my mentor has so often informed me.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “This is our only lead as of the current moment. Whether their motive makes sense for the crime committed is secondary to where the evidence points.” He rose from his seat. “Selina, thank you so much for your assistance with this. I am at a loss as to how to properly thank you.”

Selina stood and stepped toward him, a sly smile on her face. “I did share that I have one condition.”

Bruce swallowed. “What might that be?”

Selina stepped into his space, a hand cupping his face.

“That you show me what you feel for me.”

She leaned in, closing her eyes as her lips pressed against Bruce’s.

Bruce froze, eyes remaining open, unsure what to do with his hands or lips.

He felt…strangely numb about what was happening.

After a few moments, she drew back, opening her eyes.

A brief pause, and then, she huffed out a laugh.

Bruce cocked his head. “What?”

Selina smiled sadly. “I suppose you did meet my condition in showing me what you feel for me. Sad to say, it is not the answer I wanted.”

She stepped around Bruce, her hand trailing over his back as she walked. “It is all too clear that I am in second place.”

Selina smirked as she headed around the table to Jeremiah, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“And as for you, the ever-obedient watchdog,” she chuckled, “suffice it to say, jealousy is _hardly_ a good look on you.”

With that, Selina turned back to Bruce, her hips swaying as she walked past.

“Do not bother walking me back to the cart. I would like to keep my head high after tonight.”

As she headed down the hallway, she stopped, turning back to Bruce.

She blew a kiss his way. “If you ever require _my_ services, dear Bruce, you know where to find me.”

As she sauntered away, Bruce tilted his head down, exhaling loudly through his lips.

“Well, that was certainly something.” He smiled gently, turning to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was staring down at the table, pointedly not looking at Bruce.

Suddenly, he stood, not bothering to acknowledge Bruce as he headed down the hallway that led to his room.

“Wait, Miah!” Bruce reached out with his hand.

“Do not follow me,” Jeremiah growled out as he rounded the corner to the hall.

Dejected, Bruce heaved a sigh, slowly turning to head back to his quarters.

* * *

Later that evening, Bruce decided to bathe in the communal bathing area, determined to relax after the turbulent night he’d just experienced. 

Rounding the corner to the baths, Bruce thanked the gods that no one else was here.

* * *

After bathing, Bruce dried off, stepping into his nighttime tunic and taking the towel with him as he left the bathing room.

As he turned into the hallway, he nearly ran into Jeremiah, who stopped his forward progress with a hand to the center of his chest.

“Hey - “ Bruce had the air knocked out from him as Jeremiah used his hand to propel Bruce against the wall. 

Once Bruce’s back was flush with the wall, Jeremiah’s hand came up to Bruce’s scalp, pulling back on his hair to angle Bruce’s face toward his.

“Do you need me?” Jeremiah’s voice was low, dangerous.

Bruce ground his teeth together. “Is this about what happened tonight?”

Rather than answering, Jeremiah pressed his groin against Bruce’s hip.

_Oh. _Bruce felt a hardness rub against him.

Jeremiah laid his forehead on Bruce’s, his hot breath playing along Bruce’s lips, eyes flicking down to them. 

Bruce closed his eyes, need overtaking him as he made to press his answering arousal to Jeremiah.

“Answer the question, _Bruce_.” Jeremiah pressed impossibly closer.

Bruce opened his eyes. “Answer mine _first_.”

Jeremiah growled, pulling back even harder on Bruce’s hair. 

Bruce hissed in pain, but his arousal did not flag.

“I have _no_ time for your games today, Bruce.”

Jeremiah leaned down to Bruce’s neck, teeth biting down hard as he sucked on the delicate skin.

Bruce keened, blood rushing downward.

He was _so_ painfully hard, and yet there was nothing he could do to provide relief for himself.

“Funny that you say that, Jeremiah.” Bruce opened his eyes as Jeremiah leaned back in with their foreheads touching. “You say I hold all the power between us, yet you certainly enjoy throwing your weight around pretending as if it is _you_ who has that power.”

Jeremiah stilled. 

Then, he abruptly pushed himself off the wall. 

“This discussion is _not_ over.” Jaw clenched, Jeremiah strode down the hallway leading to his room.

Bruce laughed. “Look who is running away from their feelings now!” 

Jeremiah didn’t respond, continuing his descent down the hall.

Panting, Bruce slumped against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment before pushing himself off the wall to head back to his quarters.


	13. Chapter 13

Rain pelted against the roof of the indoor patio where Bruce sat, reading _Rhetorica ad Herennium_.

The wind was cold, but that was more than alright with Bruce.

Alfred entered the patio, carrying a tray. 

“Sir, I have here some strawberries, if you would like some.” 

Bruce smiled gently. “You read my mind, Alfred.”

As Alfred set the tray down on the table in front of Bruce, Bruce patted the seat next to him.

“Would you sit with me, Alfred?”

Alfred nodded. “Of course, Master Bruce. Though, it is quite unusual seeing you wear your collared tunic today.”

Bruce looked down. “It is quite cold outside.”

He faced Alfred, and pulled down one side of the collar to reveal the blotchy purple mark left on his neck by Jeremiah.

Alfred gasped. “My lord, are you hurt?”

Bruce sighed. “Not quite.”

Alfred considered Bruce for a few moments, and then nodded in understanding.

“It looks painful, my lord.” Alfred gingerly touched where the bruise was blooming with one finger.

Bruce hissed. “Only if touched.” He released the collar, concealing it once more.

Alfred pursed his lips. “Did he hurt you?”

Bruce looked away. “I am unsure how to answer that, Alfred.”

“Let me rephrase, then.” Alfred moved closer. “Did you want that?”

Bruce didn’t meet his eyes. “It was, shall we say, not part of the plan.”

Alfred nodded, and was silent.

“Alfred.”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Jeremiah?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean what I thought of him before this very moment?”

Bruce hid a chuckle. “In general.”

Alfred heaved a sigh. “My lord, if I may be frank, I liken him to that of a scared child.”

Bruce tilted his head. “And why is that?”

“Children, when they feel powerless, aim to exert control in any and all areas that they can. When their toys are taken away, they destroy their room. When they are grounded, they stomp their feet in rebellion and scream obscenities. I view Jeremiah in much the same way.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. “I presume that is not a ringing endorsement, then.”

Alfred perched himself on the edge of the seat, head in one hand. “He is still young, and he has had much go wrong in his life from a very young age. I perceive him to be running away.”

“From what?”

Alfred pursed his lips. “His past, perhaps. The reminders of his family. At least, that is my intuition when it comes to him.”

“So you would call him a coward, then.”

Alfred chuckled. “That is certainly one way to put it, my lord.”

_I am, in fact, a cowardly man. Perhaps you have already discovered this._

Bruce swallowed. 

“Is he scared of me, Alfred? Is that why he does this?” Bruce gestured to his collar.

“Scared of _you_? No.” Alfred sat back. “Scared of losing your affections? Yes.”

“I allow him to stay with me here in the palace, and I spend a great deal of time with him, do I not?” Bruce decided to leave out much of their other activities that had transpired before the bruise on his neck.

“Yes, Master Bruce. But,” he added, “I am unsure if he interprets that as affection in the same way that you do.”

“How so?”

“Everyone has their own preferred method of conveying their feelings for another. Some express it through time spent with one another. Others, through…” Alfred looked pointedly down at Bruce’s neck, “…more _physical_ means. Still others want to be told with words that they are cared for.”

_Do you need me?_

Bruce sighed heavily. “I suppose I am not sure what more he wants from me.”

Alfred nodded. “Having lost his family, he must have inherited a great deal of fear that he will lose those he loves, and thus is wary of investing himself into an interaction unless he is certain his feelings are returned, with exactly the same intensity as his own.”

_Bruce, I think I lo-_

Alfred continued. “So, to test that your feelings are true, he asserts himself in various ways, trying to get a certain reaction from you that will prove to him that you care for him.” 

Bruce massaged his temples. 

“Do you dislike him, Alfred?”

Alfred looked out to the garden for a long moment.

“Your father loved him as another son, so much so that he allowed him accommodations here. He was never a man to trust in others lightly, especially when it came to protecting you from harm, Master Bruce.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, looking up at him. “You neglected to answer the question.”

Alfred chuckled. “I only dislike those who bring you pain and unhappiness. Would you say he does that?”

Bruce paused.

“No. More so confusion and turbulence. But not pain or misery.”

Alfred nodded.

“Then I cannot say I dislike him. However,” his expression turned severe, “if he marks you like that once more without your express approval, I will not hesitate to eject him from the palace, the opinions of you and your father notwithstanding.”

Bruce cracked a smile. “Of course. Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred stood, bowing low. “Always at your service, Master Bruce. Now, far be it from me to keep you from your strawberries.”

As Alfred took his leave, Bruce laughed before helping himself to a strawberry from the tray.

* * *

A few hours after dusk, Bruce crept down the hall to Jeremiah’s room, book and scroll in hand.

He peered in, seeing that Jeremiah was fast asleep on his cushion.

Bruce smiled. _Perfect._

Bruce tiptoed in, sitting next to the cushion Jeremiah was sleeping on as he took notes on _Rhetorica ad Herennium _and continued fleshing out his address to the Senate.

From time to time, Bruce would look on as Jeremiah slept.

_You would sneak into my room, late at night, while I lay sleeping. You would creep behind me, lie yourself down beside me, and when I would stir, perhaps waking from my dreams, I would meet your eyes._

Bruce shook his head, attempting to rid the words of Jeremiah’s third letter from his thoughts. 

He fervently hoped that Jeremiah would not throw him out of his quarters upon discovering him in his room.

* * *

Some time later, Jeremiah shot up suddenly from sleep. 

“Jerome, no! Please don’t…” Jeremiah’s eyes opened, flinching back when he saw Bruce sitting next to him.

“_Shit_, Bruce, you gave me quite a fright.”

Bruce cocked his head.

_Who's Jerome?_

Before Bruce could ask, Jeremiah spoke up.

“So, Bruce. Why are you here?” There was a slight edge to Jeremiah’s voice.

Bruce took a deep breath. “I believe it is time for us to speak candidly about how we feel towards one another.”

“About damn time,” murmured Jeremiah. 

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait. “I have reason to believe you do not think I care for you. I would like to clear up the confusion and concerns surrounding this matter.”

Jeremiah scooted forward. “I’m listening.”

Bruce closed his eyes briefly before continuing.

“Jeremiah, you are my closest friend and companion. I have never felt such a strong bond between myself and someone who was not my father, mother, or Alfred. I look up to you in many ways. You are charismatic, charming, worldly, intellectual, and resourceful. You constantly challenge me and inspire me to be better than I am.”

“Furthermore, I feel positively _weak_ when I am around you. I have never harbored physical attraction toward anyone in my life; you are the first. You are my first in nearly everything, Miah.”

Bruce leaned in, placing a hand on Jeremiah’s. “I do not want to lose you, and I never intend to. But I need you to know that just because I may not always express how much I care for you, it does not mean that I feel nothing for you. It is…still something I am endeavoring to improve on.” 

“I, unfortunately, do not have a concrete way of expressing the intensity and depth of what I feel toward you, except through my words, through physical touch, and through spending time with you. I cannot say I am very in tune with myself concerning emotional expression and awareness. I hope you will forgive me for this and exercise patience as I mature in this area.”

“And one last thing.” Bruce inhaled. “When you took me to your room for the first time, I believe you were about to say you think you love me. Please correct me in this matter if I am wrong.”

Jeremiah sighed, looking down at the floor. He gave a small nod.

“While I cannot say I feel exactly that way for you at this moment, I am open to the possibility of my feelings growing for you and leading to that conclusion. But that does not subtract from the level of care that I feel for you now. I hope and pray that you do not discount that, just because I am unable to say those words to you as of yet.”

Jeremiah met Bruce’s eyes, his gaze - for the first time in a long time - flickering between Bruce’s eyes. 

Bruce felt tremendous relief at the familiar gesture. It felt like home.

Then, Jeremiah ducked his head, but not before Bruce could trace hints of a smirk on his face.

“Well said.” He looked back up to Bruce, his hand curling around Bruce’s. Then, he glanced back down again.

“And what of that…_Selina_?” He asked in a frigid tone.__

_ __ _

Bruce nearly rolled his eyes. It was obvious that Jeremiah had wanted to call her something far worse, but had settled for her name instead.

“I have known her since I was young, but after my mother passed on to the afterlife, I saw very little of her.” He paused. “She and I share a passion for politics, but otherwise, we are two different people. I feel no attraction to her, and I would certainly never call our dynamic even comparable to a bond, much less anything like the bond you and I share.”

He continued. “What you saw last night was merely a facade; nothing more. I was simply utilizing the techniques you taught me. There was no meaning behind my actions.”

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. 

“Do you have any doubts as to how I feel? Because, if you do, I would like you to be open with me about such matters. I do not wish for us to devolve to mere chickens fighting in the ring over a misunderstanding.”

Jeremiah chuckled. 

“To give full transparency,” Bruce went on, “when you act aggressive toward me, such as pinning me against the wall out of anger, I am fearful of what might transpire. I no longer wish for such situations to continue.”

Jeremiah stilled. Then, he reached for Bruce’s collar, pulling it down to reveal the bruise he had inflicted.

Jeremiah flinched back, swallowing hard. “I…I am sorry, Bruce.” 

A tear slid down Jeremiah’s cheek. Bruce sucked in a breath, leaning over to catch the tear with his thumb.

When Jeremiah looked up, it put their lips inches apart.

_Breathing the same air…sharing in one bond…_

Bruce’s gaze flicked down to Jeremiah’s lips.

_So close…just a taste…_

As Bruce leaned in, Jeremiah leaned back, ducking his head out of the way.

Just like that, the spell was broken, and Bruce was left feeling decidedly _rejected_. 

“Was that your first kiss? With that _bitch_?” Jeremiah’s jaw was taut, his tone low.

Bruce sighed. “Please don’t call her that. She is still my friend. And yes, it was.”

Jeremiah clenched his fists to his sides. “It should have been with me.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “I cannot help but agree.”

Bruce cupped Jeremiah’s face, angling it up to face his.

“Is that why you do not wish to kiss me?”

Jeremiah glanced away, appearing to chew the inside of his cheek.

“It’s…yes, that’s part of it, but there is more to it than that.”

Bruce sat back. “Please tell me about your reservations.”

Jeremiah pursed his lips, picking at a thread on the cushion. “To me…a kiss is forever. Something eternal; an imprint that will follow into the afterlife and beyond.”

Jeremiah looked at Bruce. “Once we kiss, there is no going back.”

Bruce was floored.

_These stakes are incredibly high._

Bruce swallowed. “If that is the case, then I suppose it is safe to say I am not ready for that.”

Jeremiah’s gaze fell down. “I assumed that would be the case.”

Bruce leaned in, resting his forehead on Jeremiah’s. “It does not take away the depth of affection I hold for you.”

Jeremiah sighed, closing his eyes. “I know.”

Bruce sat back; Jeremiah’s eyes opened. “I still wish for nothing else to change between us, if you are comfortable with that.”

“In terms of…?”

“Our physical affection.”

Jeremiah nodded. “I am on board with that.” He smiled gently.

“Wonderful.” Bruce took hold of Jeremiah’s hand, taking it between his own and kissing along the fingertips. 

Jeremiah looked to Bruce’s book and scroll. “How are you progressing with your second address to the Senate?”

Bruce grinned. “I already feel much better about this draft. However, I would still appreciate your help in polishing it in any way you see fit.”

“I am more than happy to advise, Your Majesty.” 

* * *

For the next few hours, Jeremiah read over Bruce’s draft, making comments on how he could improve the wording and delivery of his message. 

Most of the time, Bruce was curled up slightly into Jeremiah, with Jeremiah placing an arm around Bruce’s waist, as he read over and critiqued the address.

Just before dawn, Bruce nodded off, feeling safe and warm in Jeremiah’s embrace.

* * *

As Bruce drifted back into consciousness, he could feel a hand carding through his hair gently.

When Bruce blinked open his eyes, Jeremiah was the first thing he laid eyes on, his shy smile putting Bruce at ease.

“Good morning, Bruce.” Jeremiah sounded downright _fond_. “Believe it or not, we have slept through most of the morning, which gives us only a few hours to prepare for our second procession into the Senate.”

Bruce yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Wow, I wish that I had not slept this late into an important day such as this.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “You’re well-prepared to sweep the senators off their feet. After today, no one will dare question your authority and credibility as Emperor.”

Bruce gulped. “Well, that is certainly the hope.”

Jeremiah stood, helping Bruce up only to press him flush against his chest in a tight hug. “Are you ready for the first of many era-defining days to come in your tenure as Caesar, Your Grace?”

Bruce smiled into Jeremiah’s chest. “With you beside me, I will be.”


	14. Chapter 14

As the procession of guardsmen accompanied Bruce and Jeremiah up the front steps of the Senate, Bruce stopped, frozen.

The Praetorian Guard stopped also, having been trained to follow his lead, and Jeremiah turned back last, puzzled.

“Bruce? Is everything alright?”

“I…” Bruce ducked his head, desperately trying to steady his voice. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Jeremiah strode up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean? Of course you can do this.”

Bruce shook his head, still staring down at the ground. “I have never felt such fear in my life. Of being humiliated once more; of falling on my face.”

“Physically, or metaphorically?” 

Bruce’s face broke into a sad smile. “Both, unfortunately.” He looked back up at Jeremiah.

Jeremiah turned a bit, chuckling to himself. “My lord, you have nothing to fear. You have worked diligently on what you are about to deliver to the Senate.”

“It is just as you said, though, Jeremiah.” Bruce sighed heavily. “Once we do this, there is no going back.”

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. Then, he leaned down to whisper in Bruce’s ear, his other hand coming up to rest gently at the nape of Bruce’s neck.

“The only people who should be feeling any fear are those responsible for cultivating the corruption present in the Senate, and for orchestrating your father’s death.” Jeremiah leaned back, using his thumb to caress the outside of Bruce’s ear. “Perhaps instead of focusing on the fear of how it will be received, focus instead on how we can celebrate after it is done.”

Bruce cocked his head. “Celebrate?”

Jeremiah smirked wickedly, leaning back in to whisper, his lips grazing Bruce’s ear. “Anything you desire, my lord, and I will give it to you. That is _my_ definition of celebrating.” His hand squeezed Bruce’s shoulder almost painfully as he drew in a sharp intake of breath.

Bruce closed his eyes, biting down on his lip, warmth flooding his body. 

Too soon, far too soon, Jeremiah stepped back, releasing his hold on Bruce.

“As much as I would like to detail exactly how we will celebrate tonight, we must sadly process into the Senate now for your second address.” Jeremiah sighed, soundly genuinely disappointed. “But I’m sure your imagination will fill in the details for you.” His devilish grin was back.

“That is _completely_ unfair of you, Jeremiah.” There was no malice in Bruce’s voice.

“Perhaps.” Jeremiah grinned. “But it did help distract you from your fears.”

Bruce sighed, running his hand up Jeremiah’s arm. “Thank you.”

Jeremiah caught his hand, kneeling down to lay a kiss on the back of it. “Nothing to thank me for, Your Highness. Now,” he rose, letting go of Bruce’s hand, “are you ready?”

Bruce smiled. “I am now.”

* * *

Bruce was feeling decidedly more confidant upon their entry into the Senate, looking out to the sea of senators with a smile.

As he looked around, he met eyes with Selina, who was across the room from where Edward Nygma was seated. 

_RELAC Member: Senator Selina Kyle._

_RELAC Member: Senator Edward Nygma._

She smiled at him, nodding once.

_At least there is one friendly face in the crowd._

Two rows up and to the right of Selina, Ivy Pepper looked on, a neutral expression on her face despite standing and applauding with the rest of the Senate.

_RELAC Member: Senator Ivy Pepper._

Looking across the room from her, Bruce met eyes with Ra’s, a smirk planted on his face as he nodded to Bruce.

_RELAC Member: Senator Ra’s al Ghul._

Bruce swallowed, eyes shifting down to where Oswald was clapping along with his colleagues, wickedly grinning for no reason apparent to Bruce.

_RELAC Founder and Chairman: The Honorable Speaker Oswald Cobblepot._

Bruce strode across the clearing to shake hands with Oswald, Jeremiah in tow.

“I am_ so_ awfully glad you are back, Your Highness,” said Oswald. “You look…” Oswald scrutinized him head-to-toe, “different, somehow.” He cocked his head. 

Bruce nodded once, the smile never leaving his face. “I have learned much in my time away.”

Oswald’s eye twitched before turning to Jeremiah, standing just behind Bruce. “Pleasure to see you once again, Mr. Valeska.” He grinned widely.

Jeremiah nodded politely. “Same to you, Mr. Speaker.”

Jeremiah walked Bruce to the center of the clearing, hand hovering over Bruce’s back. 

He turned to Bruce, scrunching up his face slightly, leaning in to whisper. 

“I still have no idea why he’s so familiar with me.”

Bruce huffed out a quiet laugh. “Friend of the family, perhaps?”

“Doubtful,” Jeremiah shook his head. “I didn’t grow up here in the capital.”

“Hm, interesting.” Bruce looked down at his feet, shuffling between them.

“Hey.” Jeremiah lowered himself to be level with Bruce’s eyes. “Your father ordained you to be here, where you are right now. You have _already_ made him proud.”

Bruce looked up at Jeremiah, eyes welling with tears.

“Thank you, Miah,” he whispered. “That means more to me than you will ever know.”

Jeremiah smiled. “Sweep them off their feet.” Throwing a wink over his shoulder, he strode over to his corner of the clearing.

Bruce looked over the sea of senators, basking in having their attention for this one precious moment. 

Hopefully, he would be able to hold it long enough for them to realize he was not the same Bruce that had entered the Senate days ago.

He took a deep breath.

_The three aims of the orator are to prove, to delight, and to emotionally move._

“Thank you, to the Honorable Speaker, Mr. Cobblepot, for allowing me to speak once more with you all today.” 

Bruce nodded at Oswald; Oswald grimaced at this.

“After my first session with you concluded, I decided to thoughtfully and purposefully consider the points you all brought up, and to take as much time as necessary to do so. This is why I have waited till now to stand before you all. I thank you all for your patience and understanding as I deliberated.” 

Bruce smiled up at the crowd, wondering if anyone besides Jeremiah would see the sardonic undertone behind his grin.

“Our first topic of discussion that I brought forth to you in my first session here was regarding the murder of my father, and how to go about investigating who the perpetrator might be. I considered carefully your suggestion to leave the investigation to an unbiased Senate. And on that, I do agree with you.”

Bruce took a moment to read the crowd. As he expected, some looks of surprise were exchanged between the senators.

“I also would feel best if an unbiased Senate would take charge of an investigation. After all, the Senate is equipped with plentiful resources to explore all possible leads and interview all possible suspects.”

“However,” he paused, “that assumes the existence of such an unbiased Senate. And I have some concerns about the neutrality of the Senate in this case.”

As Bruce looked over at Ivy, he saw her brows furrowing. 

“Namely, that there is suspicious activity occurring within one of our very own senatorial councils that threatens the stability of our republic, by having disproportionate and unconscionable influence over public policy and the laws that this legislative body passes.”

Murmurs were echoing out over the clearing; Bruce saw Edward gnawing on his nails.

“Because of the nature of the allegations of corruption, I do not feel confidant in surrendering control of the investigation over my father’s death to the Senate. Why should I put such a delicate case in the hands of a Senate who is not unified by a sense of virtue within its own operations?”

“Thus, let it be known: Pending the investigation on corruption within our very Senate, the Senate will _not_ be charged with providing oversight for the investigation into my father’s murder. Until then, I will work closely with my adviser, Jeremiah, to investigate leads that arise, and we will provide regular updates to you as such information is vetted. We cannot afford to wait to determine my father’s killer; I will be heading up the murder investigation until the allegations of corruption have been either overturned or resolved.”

“For those involved in such immoral activity, I leave you with this: You are _on notice_.” Bruce gestured downward with his hand to emphasize this point. “I will not tolerate such behavior in this legislative body, which is charged with being _by_ the people and _for_ the people. We are meant to represent the best of our nation’s citizens; to eschew immorality; to ensure we operate virtuously so as to benefit the citizens of Rome. How can we say, or think, or believe that we _deserve_ our seats of office, if we do not act in a way that_ proves_ we are deserving?”

“Perhaps my father may have allowed such actions under his rule to keep the peace. But, as you may be able to tell,” Bruce stopped, planting his feet together in a solid stance, “I am _not_ my father.”

“With that out of the way, let us turn to the second topic discussed in my first session - lifting our impoverished citizens out of their poverty.” Bruce paced once more.

“Think of a crying child. What is your first instinct when you come across one? If you are anything like me,” Bruce pointed to himself, “you want very badly to comfort the child; to wipe away their tears; to tell them everything will be okay.”

“We are naturally very giving creatures, with generous hearts. So this is not a question on _if_ we feel this compulsion to give of ourselves to others less fortunate. If you have _any_ semblance of a soul, then you feel this natural impulse.” 

Bruce had to thank Jeremiah for that one; this subtle evocation of guilt was not originally in the draft.

“The question is, how best can we coordinate, within ourselves, to ensure that as many as possible are given the opportunity to make a better life for themselves. How do we codify, within our laws, this innate instinct within us to lift up our fellow countrymen?”

“You may be wondering why such codification is necessary. Senator Nygma,” Bruce gestured over to him, “brought up an excellent point that those who are wealthier will naturally introduce more currency into our economy, thus improving the lives of those less fortunate.”

“However, this implies that all those of affluence spend a great deal on goods and services to inject funds into the economy, which is, in practice, simply not always true. While we all feel a desire to help others, not all of us are equally willing to show our generosity. In fact, I have found that upon coming into contact with considerable gold, one’s first instinct is to hoard it to oneself.”

“This,” Bruce said, shaking his head, “is not an innately immoral instinct. We are creatures of self-preservation, and we believe that should the financial well run dry in the future, we will need to draw upon such savings, thus justifying the need for it.”

“However, this indirectly implies that one’s _future_ self, of _unknown_ financial status and condition, is of higher priority than your fellow citizen’s _present_ self, who is of _known_ poor financial condition.” 

Bruce stopped, looking directly at Oswald. “I think we can all agree which one is of truly higher importance.”

Oswald gulped audibly. 

“That is why I am submitting to you all,” Bruce drew a scroll from his toga, “a proposal for a bill that will leverage our giving nature, and combine it with our government’s plentiful resources, for which it is well-equipped, to automate such a way of lifting the citizens of Rome out of poverty.”

“I have taken great care to ensure the fairness of this taxation, so that no one person is burdened unfairly while others are free-riders. After all,” Bruce smirked, “if we have enough faith in our government to suggest it taking charge of a murder investigation over its most revered citizen, perhaps we should exercise similar trust in it properly executing such a directive for the sake of our country’s poor.”

“The bill, once enacted, would give many considerable emotional relief, especially among our noblesmen who feel a guilt that they do not give nearly enough of their wealth away to help those in need. I myself feel this guilt daily.”

Bruce stopped, swallowing before looking up again. “That is why I promise you here today that whatever the agreed-upon highest taxation rate is for this directive, I, as emperor, agree to be taxed 5% above this threshold.”

Audible gasps resounded throughout the room.

“For example, if we agree that our wealthiest citizens be taxed 20% of their wages, I will then be required to pay 25% of mine. And so on.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile at the looks of shock on the faces of the senators. Ra’s, in particular, looked particularly lost.

“Mr. Speaker,” Bruce headed over to Oswald’s table in the clearing, “I submit this proposal for our good senators today to review and deliberate on at the next available opportunity.”

As Bruce dropped the scroll onto Oswald’s table, he turned back to the senators.

“Thank you all for your time today.” Bruce smiled widely, and walked away from the center of the clearing towards Jeremiah.

As Bruce met his eyes, Jeremiah grinned. 

Then, he began to clap.

Bruce stopped in his tracks.

Behind Jeremiah, Bruce could make out Selina standing to clap, looking pleased - no, downright _fond_.

Bruce sent a smile her way. Then, the claps grew louder.

As his eyes traversed the room, he beheld the senators, one by one, rising from their seats to applaud.

The once-intimidating sea of faces to Bruce was now looking to be a more decidedly welcoming one.

As Bruce circled back to Jeremiah, Jeremiah drew near, placing a hand on his shoulder gently.

Jeremiah leaned in to whisper. “Called it. I _knew_ you would ace this.”

Bruce chuckled. 

“I suppose you did.”

* * *

For the rest of the Senate’s session that day, Bruce was in a state of pure ecstasy. 

He tried to concentrate on the proceedings, but his mind would inevitably drift to thinking about how well he’d nailed the speech and its reception. 

_I wish Father had been here for this._

The sudden thought broke him from his reverie, causing him to lean forward suddenly in the imperial chair, which was nestled far back in the highest row of seats. 

Next to him, Jeremiah shot forward as well, steadying Bruce with a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” Jeremiah was panic-stricken. 

Bruce swallowed. “I…I…”

The tears spilled out onto his cheeks without warning.

Jeremiah gasped, and pulled on Bruce’s arm. “Your Highness, let’s step outside for a moment and get you some fresh air.”

Bruce nodded, unable to speak through his tears as he shuffled with Jeremiah to the balcony overlooking the steps of the Senate.

The sky was clear, and the breeze was cool, providing relief to Bruce’s warm cheeks.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah faced him, holding Bruce by his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Jeremiah ran a thumb along Bruce’s right cheek, following the stream of tears up.

“I…I miss him, Miah.” Bruce sniffled, the tears still falling freely, not able to look Jeremiah in the eyes.

Jeremiah lowered his head until he was within Bruce’s line of sight.

“I know.” Jeremiah ran a hand gently through Bruce’s hair. “And I have been there, believe me.”

Bruce didn’t respond.

“Bruce, would you like to go back to the palace? There’s no need to stay if it causes you undue grief.”

Bruce nodded slowly. 

“Okay.” Jeremiah stepped back slightly. “Let me - “

“Your Grace,” a guardsman said, stepping through the threshold onto the balcony, “pardon my interruption, but the Senate’s proceedings have concluded for the day.”

“Perfect timing!” Jeremiah exclaimed. 

Bruce couldn’t help but crack a smile at this.

“I’m ready to go home,” Bruce said softly.

Jeremiah leaned down, hand resting on Bruce’s cheek.

“Me, too, Your Majesty.”

* * *

When they arrived at the palace, Bruce pulled Jeremiah by the hand into his room.

“Oh, Bruce, I - _mph_,” Jeremiah said as Bruce pulled him into a tight hug.

“Stay with me. Please.” Bruce’s voice was muffled by Jeremiah’s chest.

Jeremiah breathed in. “Of course, Bruce. Anything you need.”

Jeremiah led them to Bruce’s reclining couch, where Bruce curled up against Jeremiah’s side with his knees to his chest.

Jeremiah held tightly on to him, arms pulled around Bruce’s knees. “Do you need anything to drink?” His breath ghosted along Bruce’s ear.

Bruce shook his head. 

Jeremiah nodded, pulling Bruce closer to his chest.

“If you need anything, let me know.”

Bruce shook his head once, then relaxed fully against Jeremiah.

He drifted off to the sound and pulsing of Jeremiah’s heartbeat.

* * *

When Bruce woke up, night had fallen, and he was laying on his side, his back against Jeremiah’s chest.

As Bruce looked behind him, he could see that Jeremiah had fallen asleep as well, his arm loosely wrapped around Bruce’s waist.

Bruce smiled, moving to settle back in when Jeremiah stirred.

“B-Bruce?” Jeremiah’s voice was gruff from sleep, and it _shouldn’t_ have turned Bruce on as much as it did, but _damn it all to hell_, it _did_.

Bruce silently prayed that his arousal would dwindle a bit so that Jeremiah wouldn’t notice. 

Bruce closed his eyes. 

Then, he remembered his father’s words.

_If you meet a good man, keep him close. In these times, you will find these are most rare._

He opened his eyes, and turned around. 

“Jeremiah.” 

Jeremiah blinked one eye open.

Bruce nestled closer to Jeremiah, pressing himself flush against Jeremiah, knee-to-chest. 

“I _need_ you.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah cupped Bruce’s face with his hands. “Don’t speak such words to me unless you mean them.”

“I _do_ mean it, Miah.” Bruce stared deep into Jeremiah’s eyes. “Do I look as if I am not serious?”

Jeremiah sighed, leaning his forehead in to touch Bruce’s. “Do you need me, now _and_ forever?”

Bruce’s eyes bored into Jeremiah’s. “Yes, I need you _now_. And, if I were to guess, I will _always_ need you.” He pulled back slightly, eyes glancing down at Jeremiah’s lips.

Jeremiah shook his head. “How can I know your words are true?”

“Only through time and faith,” said Bruce. “How do we know that day will come tomorrow, knowing that it is nightfall right now? It is only with repeated exposure that we see the wider pattern and consistency; that day always follows night, and night always follows day.” 

Bruce caressed Jeremiah’s cheek with the back of his hand. “The only way you will know I am serious is if you give me the opportunity, this day and every day, forever, to show you.”

Jeremiah’s lips parted slightly, a gasp coming between them. A tear ran down his cheek; Bruce caught it with a finger.

“I…I am scared, Bruce. Of who I will become, knowing that I have you now. Knowing that you are _mine_.” Jeremiah twisted a tendril of Bruce’s hair around his finger. “Knowing that after this, I would rather die than let you go.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, pulling Jeremiah’s hand down to him to kiss. “You’re not alone. I’m scared, too, of how I might change. But we will face it together.” 

Bruce sighed gently. “Will you meet me halfway, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah closed his eyes, biting back a moan. He wrapped his arms around Bruce, pinning Bruce against him. 

“Bruce,” Jeremiah paused, opening his eyes, “I can promise you, you are _not_ ready to see how I am, how I act, when I am fully devoted to whomever I love. Everything I have done before pales in comparison.”

Bruce smiled. “Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that.”

Jeremiah angled Bruce’s chin up with his hand. “One last chance, Bruce. You can stop all of this, and we can pretend we never talked about this at all. It’s your choice to - _mph_.” 

Bruce pressed his lips to Jeremiah’s, resting there only for a moment before pulling back, a smug grin on his face. 

“You’re right. It _is_ my choice, and I have chosen.”

Jeremiah froze, his hand coming up to his mouth, as if in disbelief at what had just happened.

He touched his fingers to his lips, looking down at them thoughtfully.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Jeremiah’s pupils were blown out wide, a hungry look overtaking them.

He snarled, flipping Bruce over onto his back with a thud.

Pain blossomed along Bruce’s spine until Jeremiah seated himself on top of Bruce, trapping his lower body. 

A long, slow thrust by Jeremiah, and Bruce felt an answering hardness drag along his own. 

Bruce keened, groaning as he tilted his hips up to press more of himself against Jeremiah.

Jeremiah’s hand flew up to Bruce’s neck, gripping it firmly. He came in close, breath ghosting along Bruce’s lips.

His voice was a low growl.

“I’m going to devour you, Bruce. Ready or not.”

Bruce swallowed, offering up the most dastardly smirk he could.

“Not if I devour you first.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Jeremiah crushed his lips to Bruce’s, rolling his body - his hips, his arousal - against Bruce.

Bruce moaned into Jeremiah’s mouth, deepening the kiss by sucking lightly on his bottom lip.

In response, Jeremiah groaned, pulling away only to dive back in, his tongue skirting along the edges of Bruce’s.

Jeremiah pushed up Bruce’s tunic, trailing his hands up his stomach and resting over Bruce’s nipples.

As Jeremiah continued laving attention on Bruce’s mouth - sucking, biting, driving Bruce crazy - his fingers grazed over his nipples.

Bruce’s back arched up off the couch, and Jeremiah moved one of his hands underneath his tunic to the small of Bruce’s back, pulling him impossibly closer.

Bruce was overwhelmed, overstimulated. Jeremiah was all nervous, chaotic energy, grinding himself against Bruce while planting bruising kisses on his lips and using one of his hands to tweak a nipple.

Bruce pulled away, eliciting a whine from Jeremiah that went straight to his cock.

Then, he flipped their positions so that Jeremiah was on his back, looking up at Bruce.

Bruce could tell he had knocked the wind out of Jeremiah with this maneuver; for a brief moment, Jeremiah was speechless.

But Bruce didn’t miss his trembling, or twitching, or fidgeting, or panting.

“Miah.” Bruce bracketed his elbows around Jeremiah’s head, holding himself up. “Calm down.”

Jeremiah was positively feral, leveling a hungry look at Bruce.

Bruce was _completely_ captivated.

“Would you like me to be in control, Miah?” Bruce brushed a hair away from Jeremiah’s forehead.

Jeremiah took on a look of confusion, brows furrowing.

Bruce sat back a bit. “Did I...did I say something wrong?”

Jeremiah pressed his lips into a thin line, looking pointedly away from Bruce.

“I...have never been asked that before, in this context.”

Bruce tilted his head. “I find that odd. Surely it is the right thing to do to not assume a person’s preferences?”

Jeremiah sighed, looking back up to Bruce. “I am not sure my preferences mattered all that much in those past situations.”

Bruce was aghast.

A tear slid down Jeremiah’s cheek, his eyes shimmering.

Bruce gripped Jeremiah’s chin. “Miah. Nothing means more to me than making sure you are heard.” He wiped away one of Jeremiah’s tears with the back of his hand.

“I...I was never given the opportunity to, before now.” Jeremiah sniffled, eyes continuing to run with tears.

At a loss, Bruce kissed gently at each tear he saw fall, pressing light kisses up Jeremiah’s cheeks until his crying had subsided.

“I just...did not want to assume based on your letters what you preferred. Do you...” God, this was hard. “Do you want that?”

Jeremiah looked up at Bruce with wonder. “I...maybe? Something like that?”

Bruce nodded, smiling a bit. “Okay. I don’t want to hurt you, is all.”

Jeremiah’s face fell. “I...I deserve it, Bruce. I deserve to hurt, after everything I have done to you.”

Bruce lunged forward, hand coming up to rest on Jeremiah’s cheek. “No, no, no. Do not say that, Miah.” Bruce caressed Jeremiah’s cheekbone with his thumb. “We all make mistakes, and you have learned from them.”

Jeremiah sniffled, his eyes welling with tears once more.

“Hey.” Bruce leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Jeremiah’s, holding Jeremiah’s face between his hands.

Bruce stayed there, kissing Jeremiah, letting him know he was there as Jeremiah shed tears.

When Jeremiah’s breathing slowed down once more, Bruce pulled away, cracking a smile.

“I’m here, Miah. You need not worry about the past. We are here, together, now.”

Jeremiah sighed gently, and then pulled Bruce back in for a kiss.

It was unhurried, languid; the polar opposite of the one they had shared just minutes prior.

Bruce drew Jeremiah’s top lip in between his teeth, and Jeremiah moaned.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah breathed, “you are too kind to me.”

Bruce smiled. “Not nearly kind enough.”

When Jeremiah deepened the kiss, Bruce keened, pressing himself closer to Jeremiah, his arousal easily returning.

“Miah,” Bruce panted, “do you promise you will tell me if I hurt you?”

Jeremiah rested his forehead against Bruce’s, breathing in deeply. “Yes. Though,” he smirked, “I do revel in a bit of pain.”

Bruce grinned. “Alright. I might take inspiration from your letters, then, if you were truthful in what you liked within them.”

“I am certainly not opposed.” Jeremiah sat back, the hungry, longing look in his eyes fully trained on Bruce.

With that, Bruce sank down without warning to Jeremiah’s neck, biting down hard.

Jeremiah keened, his hips rising up to meet Bruce’s. A long, low groan reverberated through his chest, spurring Bruce on to grind himself against Jeremiah.

After suckling lightly at Jeremiah’s neck, Bruce came back up to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. “Payback for the mark you made on me before.”

Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “I’d let you mark me everywhere. My body is your canvas.”

Bruce bit down hard on his own lip, a groan being pulled from him. “Show me, then.”

Bruce lifted himself up as Jeremiah scurried to remove from himself every inch of clothing.

When he kicked off his undergarments, all Bruce could do was stare.

Bruce’s eyes flicked up to meet Jeremiah’s. “And you say that I am a god among men.”

Jeremiah breathed out a whimper. “My lord...Please. Touch me. Use me. Mark me. All of me is yours.” He thrust his hips into the open air as he panted.

Bruce smirked. “If you insist.”

Bruce began lathering kisses and bites along either side of Jeremiah’s neck, seating himself down so that his cock was nestled alongside Jeremiah’s.

He grit his teeth in frustration. He needed to feel Jeremiah’s warmth fully against his, but for now this would do.

Jeremiah moaned wantonly, mouth slack and eyes shut, as he arched up to meet Bruce’s body.

When Bruce pulled away, Jeremiah let out a whimper, sucking in his bottom lip.

Blotches of purple and blue were beginning to show along Jeremiah’s neck.

Bruce sucked in a breath, swallowing down the needy moan that surely would have come out otherwise at the sight.

The marks of possession - made by _him_ \- made him want to go even further.

Bruce, impatient, began peeling off his toga and tunic before Jeremiah pinned Bruce’s arms to his sides.

“Bruce. Let me.”

Bruce swallowed, nodding as he sat back to allow Jeremiah to sit up.

Jeremiah had Bruce lift his arms to tug off his tunic, leaving Bruce only in his undergarments.

His arousal protruded from them, leaking onto the fabric.

Jeremiah sucked in a breath before pulling Bruce flush against him, Bruce’s back to his chest.

Jeremiah leaned down, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s shoulder before running his hands down Bruce’s chest to his abdomen and then down his thighs.

Bruce keened. “Miah, you are such a goddamn tease.”

Jeremiah chuckled, hands inching back up Bruce’s thighs and towards the middle of his body. He pressed his lips to Bruce’s ear.

“Every day, since the night of the dinner with your father, I have been tormented by thoughts of doing this to you. Doing this with you.” He breathed into Bruce’s ear, pressing a kiss to his lobe. “Being so close to you...knowing you felt something for me, yet did not want to act on it...it was torture. So forgive me if I tease as payback for what I endured.”

Bruce laughed. “I suppose I cannot fault you for that.”

Without warning, Jeremiah caged Bruce’s cock between his hands, over the fabric of his undergarments.

_Fuck. His hands are so fucking warm._

Bruce groaned, his mouth falling open as instinct took over, hips thrusting up to meet Jeremiah’s hands.

Bruce could feel Jeremiah gasp into his skin. “My god, Bruce, how are you even real?”

Bruce didn’t answer, too focused on rolling his hips forward to press himself into Jeremiah’s hands, desperately chasing the friction and pressure they provided.

Jeremiah’s fingers ran under the cloth of his undergarments, and Bruce felt for the first time how hot Jeremiah’s touch was on him.

“Please, Miah,” Bruce pleaded.

Jeremiah bit down on Bruce’s shoulder as he firmly grasped Bruce’s cock, and Bruce whined.

Taking hold of Bruce’s cock, Jeremiah began slowly pumping him up and down, as Jeremiah’s other hand cupped Bruce’s balls.

Bruce’s eyes slammed shut as he moaned loudly, arching his back into the motion.

Jeremiah added a twist at the end of his strokes, and Bruce nearly came.

“Miah, Miah,” he panted, pulling himself out of Jeremiah’s grasp.

Jeremiah used Bruce’s forward momentum to twist him onto his back against the couch.

As Bruce landed with a thud, Jeremiah took hold of Bruce once more, kissing down the column of his neck and down his chest.

As Jeremiah lavished kisses onto his stomach, warmth began pooling just below.

Bruce clenched his fist, willing his hips to not thrust up of their own accord.

When Jeremiah’s mouth reached his cock, he pressed a chaste kiss onto it.

_Fuck_. There was _no_ way he was going to survive this.

With one smooth motion, Jeremiah swallowed him down, and Bruce could not hold back his instinctual thrust upward.

Jeremiah gagged around him, but easily recovered, sucking him in while his tongue danced along the underside of his cock.

Bruce saw stars, fingernails digging into his palms as he tried - and failed - to prevent his hips from thrusting into Jeremiah’s mouth.

The suction, the wetness, the warmth, and the vibration of Jeremiah’s moans were all too much.

Bruce pulled back on Jeremiah’s hair, pulling him off of his cock. Bruce whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Miah,” he breathed.

_How is he so damn good at this?_

“Bruce,” Jeremiah whined, “take me. Please. I need you.”

Bruce closed his eyes, moan threatening to rip through his throat.

Then, he opened his eyes, leaning forward to crawl towards Jeremiah.

Jeremiah started to turn away from Bruce to lay down on his stomach, but Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back.

“No.” Jeremiah turned back to Bruce, shock written on his features. “I want to see you, Miah.”

Jeremiah nodded, sliding back onto his back as he gazed up at Bruce with wonder.

Bruce followed, crushing his lips to Jeremiah’s in a searing kiss.

Then, he pulled back.

“So, I, uh,” Bruce began.

Jeremiah smiled.

“Using your fluids,” he pointed to Bruce’s mouth, “helps ease the way.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, I mean...I just do not wish for it to hurt you.”

Jeremiah laughed. “As long as some sort of oil or water is involved, I will be fine.”

“No,” Bruce said, becoming a bit frustrated, “I worry it will hurt if I just...” He gestured down to himself and to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah stilled, looking away. “I have never been subjected to much preparation before now. I’m sure I will be more than fine.”

Bruce took hold of Jeremiah’s chin, tilting it so that Jeremiah faced him. “No. I do not wish to hurt you. End of story.” He paused, heaving a sigh. “I want you to have fun, too. I do not mind being more...forceful once I know that you are physically prepared.”

Jeremiah gulped. Then, he grabbed Bruce’s hand, taking hold of two fingers and guiding them to his mouth.

Jeremiah’s tongue swept out first, touching Bruce’s fingertips, before he parted his lips and allowed Bruce’s fingers entry.

Bruce closed his eyes as Jeremiah sucked gently on them.

When Bruce pulled his fingers away, Jeremiah’s face was flushed. 

God, he could not _wait_ to see Jeremiah become undone.

Bruce pressed one finger lightly against Jeremiah’s entrance.

Then, he paused, seeing Jeremiah’s cock twitch in interest.

_How would it feel if…?_

Bruce knelt down, swiping his tongue up along the underside of Jeremiah’s cock, and Jeremiah let out a low moan.

Bruce chose this moment to place more pressure at his entrance, and his finger slipped easily inside.

Jeremiah gasped, breaths coming faster as he hitched himself backward onto Bruce’s finger.

Bruce mouthed along Jeremiah’s cock, groaning as his finger was pulled in further and further.

Wow, that had been _much_ easier than he anticipated.

As Bruce took Jeremiah into his mouth, he slid a second finger in, and Jeremiah arched up, overcome with sensation.

“More, Bruce,” Jeremiah panted. 

Bruce glanced up briefly at Jeremiah, whose flush had turned into a deep crimson spanning his cheeks, neck, and chest, joining the bruises on his neck from earlier.

Bruce took Jeremiah further into his mouth, scissoring his fingers within Jeremiah, and Jeremiah mewled. 

“_Fuck_, Bruce, _please_. _Give it to me._”

_Shit_, how was he supposed to _not_ give in after that?

Bruce pulled off of Jeremiah’s cock with a pop, letting his fingers slip out from him.

Bruce kissed his way back up Jeremiah’s body, his lips pressed against chiseled abs, then along his chest, and then up the column of his neck, being careful of the bruises he inflicted there earlier.

When Bruce reached his jawline, he could feel Jeremiah quivering under his touch. 

Bruce sat back, and Jeremiah spread his legs apart, legs straight out.

Fuck, how was he _so goddamn flexible_?

Bruce bunched up the cushion underneath them so that Jeremiah’s hips were angled up. 

As Bruce swiped his tongue across the palm of his hand, he pondered, distributing it along himself.

Then, he stood.

_There is no way this will work without something more substantial_, he thought.

“Miah, give me one moment.” Bruce ran to his bathing room, where he had begun keeping a bottle of olive oil. Just in case.

As he came back and sat before Jeremiah, Jeremiah looked puzzled.

“Bruce, I believe I said before that I do not require - “

“Miah.” Bruce looked sternly at him. “Let me.”

Jeremiah swallowed, nodding his head furiously.

Sitting on the couch, on his knees, Bruce dipped the bottle to allow a bit of the oil to pool into his waiting hand.

As he caught some, he stroked himself, and lined himself up with Jeremiah’s entrance.

Then, Bruce looked up at him.

“Miah.” He waited.

Jeremiah’s eyes widened, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Then, he pressed himself forward onto Bruce, and Bruce’s vision swam.

Jeremiah’s heat was a tight sheath around him, around the tip of his cock where he was particularly sensitive.

All of Bruce’s awareness narrowed down to this single sensation connecting him with Jeremiah.

He felt nothing else.

And he wanted to feel _more_. 

Bruce pushed himself inside Jeremiah to the hilt, the blood singing through his veins as Jeremiah’s body welcomed him in, with very little resistance.

Jeremiah was impossibly, scorching hot. He clenched involuntarily around Bruce, and Bruce moaned at the pressure centering on the base of his cock.

Bruce panted, his chest heaving with every breath.

Jeremiah looked wrung out, arms holding his legs out wide, mouth open as his eyes fluttered open to gaze at Bruce.

He was utterly _wrecked_.

Bruce tugged on Jeremiah’s wrists and, with one hand, pinned them one over the other on Jeremiah’s chest.

He brought his other hand down beside Jeremiah’s shoulder, holding himself up with it.

As Bruce pulled out slowly, carefully, Jeremiah whined.

“No, no, no, no, no, please, Bruce, don’t leave,” Jeremiah begged, legs wrapping around Bruce to guide him back in. 

Bruce clenched his eyes shut, grunting as he sunk back into him.

“Miah, please, I can’t…control…” Bruce grit out.

This was all too much. If he let go…

No. He didn’t want to hurt Jeremiah.

Jeremiah’s legs wrapped tighter around Bruce, trapping him back inside to the hilt.

“Please, Bruce.” 

Bruce met Jeremiah’s eyes. Jeremiah bit his lip, eyes flicking down between them.

“My body was _made_ for you.”

Jeremiah’s body clenched down around Bruce; Bruce hissed as the heat and pressure around him intensified, swelling up his cock impossibly further.

“For _this_.”

Jeremiah clenched down again, but this time, instead of concentrating only at the base of Bruce’s cock, it pulsed along his length. 

“Please don’t deny me.”

Bruce looked down at Jeremiah as he looked up at Bruce through his eyelashes.

Then, Bruce moved the hand that had been by Jeremiah’s shoulder up to his neck, and pulled almost all the way out before slamming back inside again, earning a open-mouthed groan from Jeremiah.

As Bruce pistoned in and out of him, Jeremiah’s moans coalesced into one long groan, punctuated with gasps whenever Bruce pushed himself in to the hilt.

“_Yes_. You feel it.”

_Slam._

“The connection between us.”

Bruce screwed his eyes shut, senses isolated to where he and Jeremiah were joined.

“You _do_, don’t you?”

Bruce bit down on Jeremiah’s shoulder, making him cry out.

“Bruce, you feel it.”

A statement. Not a question.

“Tell me you feel it.”

Jeremiah’s voice took on a frantic tone.

Bruce looked down between them at Jeremiah’s weeping cock. It looked…neglected.

_Time to change that._

Bruce took his hand off of Jeremiah’s wrists to grab hold of his cock, pumping up and down as his hips snapped furiously.

Jeremiah tightened around him, but not like before, where it was only around the base of his cock, pulsing upward. 

Now, it was around the _entirety_ of his length.

Bruce could hardly move within him, and _fuck_, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, because Jeremiah’s rolling orgasm hit, and he heard him cry out "J-_Bruce!_", and his cock thrummed with every wave vibrating up his length from inside Jeremiah, and it was almost like Jeremiah’s body knew before _him_ that he was going to come, because suddenly Bruce was thrusting in and was being milked of every drop, and he was coming and coming and coming, and for all he knew he was yelling loudly enough to alert Alfred but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Everything within his awareness fell, except for Jeremiah.

Jeremiah, and the bond they shared.

Their _connection_.

Bruce slumped behind Jeremiah, slinging an arm around him and pulling him close, holding him through their shared orgasms.

Just before Bruce lost consciousness, he pressed a kiss to the nape of Jeremiah’s neck, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

“You mean _everything_ to me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Bruce’s eyes fluttered open.

It was pitch-black, save for the candlelight coming in from the hall. 

As Bruce stirred, he heard a clattering down the hall, and what sounded like a shield clanging to the ground.

Bruce sat up, on high alert.

He looked down at himself and at Jeremiah, surprised that they were both clothed and free of evidence from what had transpired earlier.

_Did he clean us up during the night?_

Beside him, Jeremiah stirred awake.

“B-Bruce?” 

“Miah. Wake up. We’re not alone.” 

Bruce made to stand, but Jeremiah reached behind him and pressed Bruce gently back down.

“Stay here,” Jeremiah said, rising as the sounds grew closer.

Shouts rang down the hall, and Bruce’s throat seized up.

_No. No, no, no._

Cries of anguish and gurgling sounds echoed, and Bruce jumped up.

Jeremiah, crouched into a defensive stance, pushed him back onto the couch.

“No, Bruce. We are safest here. Let the guardsmen do their jobs.”

Bruce glared at Jeremiah, but his eye caught on something in the hall advancing toward them.

“M-Miah - ” Bruce’s voice quivered, and Jeremiah turned back to the overhang.

A hulking specimen of a man, several heads taller than Jeremiah, stalked towards them, a sword and shield in hand.

The emblem on the shield was that of the Praetorian Guard, but Bruce had never seen this man before.

_Stolen, then._

Bruce tried to push past Jeremiah, but Jeremiah held him back with one arm.

“Stay _behind_ me, Bruce,” he grit out.

The intruder’s shoulders were wider than that of Bruce and Jeremiah’s put together, and his biceps had the circumference of Jeremiah’s thighs.

Bruce gulped. 

_We stand no chance of winning in a fair fight against him._

Weaponless and devoid of physical training, Bruce had never felt so helpless in his life.

As the man drew near, he raised his sword, the point of it lining up with the center of Jeremiah’s chest.

The rest of the chaos that followed went as if in slow motion. 

A shout rang out from behind the man as he reared back his sword as if to plunge it into Jeremiah’s chest.

The man turned around, and Bruce saw Alfred running up, jumping onto the man’s back.

Jeremiah ducked out of the way, pulling Bruce along with him by the wrist as the man stumbled forward where they had just been standing.

The man writhed, trying to claw Alfred off of his back. 

“_Run_, Master Bruce!” Alfred grunted out, holding on for dear life.

“Come on!” Jeremiah pulled on Bruce’s wrist, dragging him out of the room.

Bruce tried to pull out of Jeremiah’s grasp. 

“We _cannot_ go! Alfred - he - “

“There’s no time!” Jeremiah pleaded. “We have to get to somewhere safe!”

Bruce turned back to his room, trying with all his might to break out of Jeremiah’s grip.

The man was able to get a hold of Alfred’s neck, throwing him down onto the ground.

Bruce heard a crack as Alfred hit the ground.

Tears filled Bruce’s eyes as he cried out, yelling for Alfred as Jeremiah dragged him further away.

By now, guardsmen were rushing past them to secure the room, and Bruce could no longer see Alfred.

He sobbed as he was pulled further and further from Alfred, from his room, and toward the exit to the palace.

Bruce felt the world tilt, and then, all went black.

* * *

A bright light woke Bruce up, and all he could see was open skies, the sun directly overhead. 

It felt like he was floating.

Then, he propped himself up on his elbows, and realized he was on a rowboat with two guardsmen and Jeremiah.

As he looked about, he recognized the shoreline. 

_The Tiber River._

Bruce rubbed the sleep from his eyes, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

“What happened?” He asked, to no one in particular.

Jeremiah knelt down carefully beside him, so as not to rock the boat.

“You fainted, my lord.” Jeremiah raised a hand to Bruce’s cheek, thumb pressing lightly under Bruce’s eye. “I am so grateful you are at last awake.” He smiled kindly.

Bruce stared at Jeremiah.

_He took me away from Alfred._

Bruce moved his face out from Jeremiah’s hand, swatting his wrist away.

“Is Alfred…?”

Jeremiah paled, swallowing and looking down.

“He…is no longer with us.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

Then, he clutched the front of Jeremiah’s tunic, balling it up in his fist.

“_You_ killed him,” he snarled.

Jeremiah’s brows furrowed, jaw becoming taut. “Excuse me?”

“_You_ pulled me away from him.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

Jeremiah threw his head back with a laugh. 

“_Oh_, and remind me how _you_,” he pointed a finger to Bruce’s chest, “would have been able to help him, with _no_ weapons and _no_ combat training.” 

“I will never know now, thanks to _you_.” Bruce’s skin crawled with the urge to deck Jeremiah across the face.

“Oh, _really_.” Jeremiah leaned into Bruce’s space, noses brushing together, eyes trained on Bruce’s. “I suppose this is the thanks I get for saving _your_ life,” he spat out. “I had no idea I was serving such an ungrateful and selfish _brat_.”

The tone in his voice sent tingles down Bruce’s spine.

Bruce wrapped a hand around Jeremiah’s throat, pressing down _just_ so. A warning. 

“Say that again to your _Emperor_,” Bruce snarled, squeezing the hand around Jeremiah’s throat, “and you will live _just_ long enough to regret it.”

A guardsman cleared his throat, and Bruce glanced up.

“Your Majesty, we have arrived.” The guardsman - who Bruce recognized was a member of his father’s personal guard - pointed towards the shoreline.

Bruce relinquished his hold on Jeremiah, and looked to where they were docking.

It was a villa, and a simple one at that.

Bruce squinted. The building looked oddly familiar. 

“This was your mother’s childhood home,” the guardsman continued. “A location virtually unknown to anyone except to the late Emperor and his personal guard. For your safety, Your Highness.”

Bruce swallowed, nodding.

They docked onto a rocky shore, and Bruce donned some sandals to protect his feet.

As he stepped out of the boat, Jeremiah followed, walking alongside Bruce but not looking his way.

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_Why did I elect a literal child to the position of political and personal adviser?_

The building the guardsmen led them to looked slightly familiar to Bruce. 

Had his mother brought him here before?

Jeremiah cleared his throat, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts.

“This discussion is _not_ over, Your Highness,” he seethed. 

Bruce clicked his jaw. “So noted.”

* * *

The guardsman that Bruce recognized as a member of his father’s personal guard gave them a brief tour of the villa.

There were two rooms, meant to be personal quarters; one communal bathing room; and a common area for what Bruce could only assume was meant for dining and entertaining guests.

“I will take this room, then.” Bruce claimed the room closest to the bathing room. 

With that, Bruce headed into his new quarters, not bothering to wait for a response from Jeremiah.

Mercifully, Jeremiah said nothing.

* * *

Bruce officially had no privacy.

Ten guardsmen were stationed in just the common area alone. Even in the bathing room, two guardsmen stood watch.

Two were posted in his room. 

It was _stifling_.

* * *

For two days, Jeremiah did not show his face.

While Bruce felt some small relief at this, he was still apprehensive.

They had never gone this long without seeing each other during an argument. 

And before, whenever Jeremiah _had_ turned up again, he was always back with a vengeance.

Thus, Bruce was on edge by the end of the second day, too scared to leave his room save for a bath earlier that morning.

Then, his stomach rumbled.

He was _so_ hungry, and he had grown tired of staying in his quarters. 

Perhaps the common area would give him some reprieve from staring at the blank walls in his room for another few hours.

He headed to the common area only to find Jeremiah sitting at the table, eating bread and grapes from a tray.

A second tray was beside his own.

Bruce sighed, resolving to make the best of this awkward situation.

He sat down beside Jeremiah, digging eagerly into the bread.

Jeremiah continued with his meal, as if unaware that Bruce was even there.

It was…unnerving.

Then, Jeremiah broke the silence.

“You should not go so long without eating.” A clipped tone to his voice.

Jeremiah still did not look at him.

Bruce did not bother with a response as he continued with his meal.

_Perhaps I would leave my room to eat if I were not so worried of how you might ambush me._

Jeremiah finished his meal without a word, rising and heading toward the reclining couch across from the table.

As Jeremiah gingerly sat down and crossed his legs, he patted the seat next to him.

He still had yet to look at Bruce.

“It would please me if you would join me after you are finished, Your Majesty.”

His voice was controlled, even. A little _too_ even for Bruce's liking.

Bruce was fearful of Jeremiah’s temperament, but Jeremiah being so stoic was _decidedly_ unlike him.

_The calm before the storm._

Bruce’s throat clenched, needing more force than usual to swallow down his food.

Bruce had many things to say in response to Jeremiah (_it would please ME if you were not an asshole_, among others), but decided that for his own self-preservation, he would remain silent.

After a moment, Bruce rose from the table, seating himself on the couch, but as far away from Jeremiah as the couch would allow.

Jeremiah turned slowly toward Bruce, finally meeting his eyes, a pained smile on his face.

“I refuse to apologize for protecting you.” His voice was unnaturally cheery, a lilt to his voice that made his words feel artificial. 

Bruce met his eyes, expression unchanging.

When Bruce didn’t respond, the smile slid off of Jeremiah’s face, a cold look glazing his eyes over.

He moved closer to Bruce, his legs coming within an inch of Bruce’s.

Jeremiah rested his elbow on the couch, just behind Bruce’s head. 

“You have been _unusually_ quiet, Bruce.” Jeremiah’s eye twitched as he leaned in close to Bruce, voice barely a whisper. “Care to explain your relative silence?”

Bruce swallowed, eyes flicking between Jeremiah’s eyes.

“Why bother with words, when all whom I love are in the afterlife and can no longer hear me?”

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as if in bewilderment.

“So suffice it to say, I do not count, then,” Jeremiah sneered.

“You mean _nothing_ to me,” Bruce spat out. “I have no words to spare on the likes of _you_.”

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, leveling a glare at Bruce.

Then, his face suddenly changed, becoming neutral once more as he sat back, looking intently down at his nails.

“So, tell me, Bruce.” He paused. “If I _truly_ mean nothing to you, then _why_,” he breathed, leaning back into Bruce’s space again, “have I yet to be thrown out by you?”

Bruce stared back wordlessly. Jeremiah smirked.

“Perhaps it it because,” he began, placing a hand on Bruce’s cheek, “you still _need_ me for something.” He grinned down at Bruce, letting his thumb drop down to Bruce’s mouth, pressing down on his bottom lip.

_Shit, shit, shit._ Bruce willed his arousal to dampen. 

“Or,” Jeremiah sat back, looking at his nails once more, “perhaps you are scared of all that I know about you, and would rather keep me close to watch me.” He dared to glance back at Bruce then, a devilish smirk gracing his face.

“Though, I have to wonder.” Jeremiah leaned in close again, this time lips grazing Bruce’s cheekbone. His breath burned hot against Bruce’s cheek. “Would exile not solve that problem?”

Bruce scoffed. “Exile implies that the subject is worth the effort to enact such a punishment.”

Jeremiah stilled, sitting back to contemplate Bruce with narrowed eyes.

Bruce almost smiled. Jeremiah was _so_ easy to rile up once one knew of his insecurities.

He sent a silent thanks to Alfred in the afterlife for making him aware of them.

Jeremiah looked down at his lap, running his hands down his tunic to smooth out the fabric.

“I suppose, then, I am relieved of my duties as your political adviser, since I mean so little to you.”

Bruce nodded once.

Then, Jeremiah glanced back up, wearing a dastardly grin.

“I wonder, however,” he said, reaching behind Bruce’s head, “if I am free of my duties as your _personal_ adviser.” 

Jeremiah leaned in to whisper in Bruce’s ear, his nails dragging painfully down the back of Bruce’s head.

“Or should I say, as your royal _concubine_.”

Bruce hissed. Jeremiah’s nails were _still_ not enough for his arousal to flag. 

Jeremiah pulled away suddenly, standing up from the couch and adjusting the toga flung over his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, such services do not come for free. There _is_ a price, even for the almighty Emperor.” 

He smirked down at Bruce before strolling back to his own quarters.

Bruce stood. “Wait! You called out someone’s name before, when we were…_together_. Someone whose name started with J.”

Jeremiah froze in place. 

Bruce continued. “I assume it was some past lover of yours, then?”

After a pause, Jeremiah turned slowly around.

His face conveyed nothing about his thoughts, save for one brow being raised.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my _dear_ Bruce.”

Flashing a grin Bruce’s way, Jeremiah turned back and entered his quarters, out of sight from Bruce.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, Bruce woke up, feeling decidedly unready for the day’s session at the Senate.

He sighed heavily, knowing that there would be no good time to go back to normal life after the death of his beloved manservant.

On the way to the Senate, Bruce shed silent tears, feeling more alone than he had ever felt in all his life.

Just before they reached the Senate, one of the two guardsmen accompanying him in the cart tapped gingerly on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce sniffled, looking up at the man, who he recognized as the same guardsman from his father’s personal guard that had known of his mother’s childhood home.

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head, “if it pleases you, I would like to extend to you some small comfort, if you will allow me.”

The guardsman placed a tentative hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I cannot imagine how you must be feeling, Your Majesty, but I can assure you that you are not alone.” The guardsman smiled kindly down at Bruce. “It is the will of the gods that though your father and his most trusted servant are now in the afterlife, that I am still stationed here after all these years.”

Bruce’s eyes welled with tears, his lips pulling up slightly.

“T-Thank you.” Bruce clapped a hand over the guardsman’s hold on his shoulder. “I wish I could say I knew of your name.”

The guardsman bowed at the waist. “Lucius Fox, Your Grace.” He stood up straight once more. “It is an honor to serve you, having seen you grow up within the walls of the palace. You make your father proud.”

Bruce swallowed down his tears as he patted his hand over the guardsman’s. “Your words mean a great deal to me.” _More than you will ever know._

Lucius squeezed his shoulder once before pulling his hand away.

“If you ever need any assistance for any reason, Your Majesty, I am here to serve.”

Bruce nodded once.

“Thank you, Lucius.”

* * *

As Bruce processed into the Senate, flanked by his troupe of guardsmen, he gestured to Oswald to indicate his intent to speak.

Oswald nodded curtly, and as the senators quieted down, Bruce positioned himself in the center of the clearing for all to see.

“Thank you for giving me your time once more, and thank you, Mr. Speaker, for giving me the opportunity to speak again in front of all of you today.”

Bruce smiled at Oswald. Oswald pursed his lips.

“I have a short announcement I would like to make regarding the investigation into alleged corruption taking place within this very Senate.”

Bruce took a deep breath in.

_You cannot have both happiness and the truth. You have to choose. I beg of you, my son, please choose happiness._

“Due to recent events, the investigation is suspended until further notice. I will provide updates as they arise if and when the investigation resumes. Unfortunately, I am unable to take your questions today, but please direct any thoughts you have to our Speaker, who will pass them on to me for my perusal. I will be happy to address them at our next session. Thank you for your time.”

With that, Bruce walked out from the clearing, heading down the steps of the Senate with his guardsmen in tow.

After a few steps down, Lucius tapped him on the shoulder. Bruce stopped.

“Your Highness, Senator Selina Kyle would like to speak with you, if it pleases you.”

Bruce turned, and saw Selina wave from over Lucius’s shoulder.

Bruce nodded, waving her on to approach.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head.

“Selina.” He swallowed.

“It has been several days since your last visit to the Senate.” She looked away briefly before meeting eyes with Bruce again. “I was admittedly a bit worried.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Much has happened since then.”

Selina’s expression turned to one of concern. “Are you alright?”

Bruce stared down at the ground. “Physically, yes.”

She drew closer, trying to position herself within Bruce’s line of sight. “What happened that is making you call off the investigation into RELAC?”

Bruce sighed heavily, suddenly regretting allowing her to speak with him.

“It…It’s Alfred.” Bruce ducked his head, feeling the tears pool in his eyes. “He…was slain.”

Selina gasped, stepping back a bit.

“Your manservant? It cannot be.”

Bruce looked at her, wishing with all his might that he could agree with her.

“It is true. I was there.”

Selina’s face fell, her lips pursed.

“What happened?”

Bruce swallowed. “He died protecting me from an intruder.” His voice began shaking uncontrollably. “It should have been m-me, Selina. H-He died for nothing. I should have saved him.”

Selina reached out for Bruce, pulling him into an embrace. Bruce nestled his face into her shoulder.

“My lord, I am truly, deeply sorry.” She sighed. “There is nothing I can say that will bring him back from the afterlife. But he would have rather you lived and he died than the other way around.”

Bruce bit back a sob. “I just…I just miss him, Selina.” His lip quivered. “He was my friend.”

Selina sighed heavily. “I know.”

For a few moments, Bruce stayed in her embrace, tears falling freely onto her shoulder. Occasionally, she would rub circles into his back, as if to reassure him she was there, but nothing more.

Then, Bruce pulled away from her.

“Selina, I…” He paused. “Thank you.”

Selina gave him a small smile. “Of course. You may be the Emperor now, but you are still my friend, too.”

Bruce nodded solemnly.

Selina looked around, a puzzled look on her face. “Where _is_ your loyal watchdog, anyway? I was surprised to see he was not obediently trailing your footsteps today.” She gave him a wicked smirk.

Bruce pursed his lips. “We are not on good terms right now.”

Selina nodded. “I see. May I ask for what reason?”

Bruce worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “He pulled me away from Alfred when Alfred came into my room to protect me from the intruder. I…” He sighed, looking down at the ground. “I wish he had let me stay to save Alfred.”

Selina furrowed her brows. “Surely he did that to get you out of harm’s way?”

Bruce scowled. “He said it was to protect me.”

“Well, Bruce,” she drawled, “that certainly _is_ what it sounds like. You know, Alfred was doing the same for you, too. And I do not see you being mad at Alfred for what he did to save your life.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek.

“Are you telling me,” she continued, “that you would only be grateful to Jeremiah for what he did had he died in the attempt to save you from peril?”

Bruce closed his eyes, massaging his temples. “I suppose I did not view what he did as saving me, so much as aiding in the death of yet another one of my loved ones.”

“The intruder was the one who killed Alfred, was he not?”

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That is correct. But - “

“No. If he is the one responsible, then that is the end of it. Jeremiah was only doing his duty. If he had let you die trying to save Alfred’s life, there would have been three burials. One for you, one for Alfred, and one for Jeremiah after the fact for neglecting to save your life.”

Bruce sighed.

Selina huffed gently. “Well, enough about that. I am certain once the storm has passed for you, you will be able to patch everything up with him.”

Bruce let out a laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

Selina cocked her head. “How so?”

“He confuses me deeply, Selina.”

Selina leaned in. “I would _love_ to know what you mean by that.”

_God, where do I even begin?_

“He is… an enigma. It seems, to me, that he has no consistent personality; or rather, that he has multiple, but contained in one body.”

Selina nodded for him to continue.

“He has a gentle, docile side to himself. In this state, he is sensitive and caring.”

Bruce remembered the times when the docile Jeremiah would show.

The timid one, scared and trembling after writing the scandalous third letter, who held him and comforted him after the death of his father.

The one who cried during their first time together over Bruce’s kindness.

The one who reminded him so much of his father in his most shining moments; when Bruce had floundered during his first day in the Senate, and Jeremiah had unflinchingly stood up for him while uniting the Senate to one cause.

Just like his father. The Great Unifier.

Bruce loved this side of Jeremiah. He was always, _always_ there for Bruce.

Bruce continued. “But then, he also appears to have a more turbulent, mad side. A master manipulator, vindictive and vengeful to the point of excess.”

Bruce flinched, remembering all the times he had been cornered, physically and mentally, when Jeremiah was in this state.

However, Bruce noted, this was _also_ the state in which he found Jeremiah most alluring.

He decided to leave this out of his description to Selina.

Bruce exhaled. “And I cannot predict which one I will encounter at any given time.”

Selina pressed her lips into a tight line. “I have heard of such a condition.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “You have?”

“Yes. One of my mother’s sisters was like this.” She straightened. “How often do you see each side of him?”

Bruce stroked his chin in thought. “It is difficult to tell, though it appears to be roughly equal.”

“So half of the time one side, and half the other?”

Bruce nodded.

Selina cleared her throat. “Are there any patterns you have found that could indicate when one side or the other will emerge?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. At least, not that I can tell.”

“I would suggest taking note of all the times you can recall of the events leading up to one side taking charge over the other.” She tapped a finger against her chin, contemplating. “If you see a pattern of events that cause the emergence of one side over the other, you can use that information to influence when one side will come out, and when one side will retreat. My mother always called these ‘triggers’.”

Bruce nodded. “That is helpful to know, Selina. Thank you.”

Selina bowed her head. “Of course, Your Majesty. I wish you luck on this.” She sighed, taking his hand in hers. “I am so sorry again about Alfred. I will be sending many prayers to the gods for his warm welcome in the afterlife.”

Bruce squeezed her hand once before pulling away. “It is much appreciated.”

As Bruce started to walk away, Selina grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, Bruce. One last thing.”

Bruce turned.

“You...aren’t stopping the investigation because of what happened to Alfred, are you?”

Bruce sighed, looking down to the ground as he shuffled his feet.

“Selina, the last thing I want is for more loved ones to die on my watch. It is likely no coincidence that the day after my announcement of the investigation into my father’s death, as well as into the corruption occurring within the Senate, that Alfred was slain.”

Selina looked away for a moment, head lowered.

Then, she straightened, looking directly at Bruce.

“Do you think your father would want you to back away from this?”

Bruce’s jaw grew taut. “I think my father would know when he’s been outsmarted and would fight to protect the lives of the innocent.”

Selina narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you think bowing down in submission to whoever the perpetrator is is protecting the lives of the innocent?”

Bruce snatched his wrist out of her grasp. “I will do what I must to protect myself and the people I love. I do not expect _you_ to understand.”

With that, Bruce walked away without looking back at Selina, his guardsmen in tow.

* * *

During the voyage back to the villa, Bruce was stewing over the conversation he’d had with Selina.

Then, as they approached the shore, Bruce was reminded of a question he’d had earlier.

“Lucius?”

He turned to Bruce, bowing low. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“You said you had known this was my mother’s childhood home.”

Lucius nodded. “Yes. Sometimes your mother would hold small family gatherings here.”

“Did I ever come here?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, when you were quite young.”

Bruce gave a gentle sigh. That at least explained the familiarity of the villa.

Wait, if Lucius had been part of his father’s personal guard, then...

“Were you ever present when my father and Jeremiah would interact, before he became my tutor?”

Lucius swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Bruce nodded once. “What was Jeremiah like back then?”

Lucius thought for a moment, resting a hand on his chin. “He was not unlike how he is now, though I cannot say I was ever party to his temperamental bouts. He had always been gentle before.”

_Curious._

“So it was only after he became my tutor that you began seeing this turbulent side to him?”

Lucius nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I do not believe your father was aware that he was capable of such behavior when he signed him on as your tutor.” He placed a gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, was more important to your father than making sure you were safe and out of harm’s way.”

Bruce swallowed, looking away to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall.

“Your Majesty, you are certainly not obligated to entertain his presence, if it causes you any pain or discomfort at all.” Lucius pulled his hand away.

Bruce cracked a small smile. “I am aware.” He sighed heavily. “I want to believe he is a good person.”

Lucius nodded solemnly. “Perhaps your father had been a stabilizing force in his life, and his loss caused him to fall apart.”

Bruce pursed his lips. Jeremiah and his father _did_ think of each other as family.

Lucius shrugged. “All I know for certain is that I cannot say I have ever seen Jeremiah react to anyone in the way I’ve seen him react to you.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. “Alfred had told me Jeremiah likely has abandonment issues that manifest into the behavior we see when he is around me.”

Lucius nodded. “Alfred was always a wise man. The afterlife gained a treasure of a man with him.”

“You are correct, of course.” Bruce inhaled shakily. “Thank you, Lucius.”

Lucius bowed his head. “I am in your service, Your Majesty. If it ever comes to it, I would be happy to evict Jeremiah if it would please you.” He smiled kindly.

Bruce chuckled. “I hope it does not come to that. But you will be the first to know if it does.”

* * *

Bruce laid back on the cushion in his quarters, staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. 

He thought over what Selina had told him about identifying patterns in when Jeremiah would change personalities. 

When _was_ the last time Jeremiah switched personalities?

Well, he supposed, it was when he accused Jeremiah of killing Alfred. 

Jeremiah had gone from being kind to Bruce, expressing gratitude for him waking out of his fainting spell, to calling Bruce a selfish and ungrateful brat. 

And since then, the other Jeremiah had stayed in control. 

Thinking back to the other times _this_ half of Jeremiah had flared up yielded a startlingly similar pattern.

When Bruce rejected him, or shut him out, or wounded his pride, the other Jeremiah would come out.

Granted, Bruce admitted, this other Jeremiah had admirable qualities. 

He oozed confidence, and was an expert at subtle social manipulation. 

But this all came at a huge cost, and often that was Bruce’s sense of safety and security.

He played dirty, and would get aggressive, engaging in at worst assault.

Or at least, that had been the worst so far.

_You have no idea who you’re dealing with, my dear._

Bruce shuddered at the memory of Jeremiah advancing on Bruce after being punched.

How far would this other Jeremiah have taken it, had the guards not been there to pull him away?

Bruce could not bear to think on it.

Which brought Bruce back to his current quandary: How could he get _this_ Jeremiah to retreat?

Bruce thought back to when Jeremiah had last changed personalities before Alfred’s passing on to the afterlife.

Then, he remembered. It was during their first time together. 

Jeremiah had started out dominant, claiming that he would devour Bruce. He had touched Bruce everywhere, frantically reaching for every inch of skin he could. 

He had been a bundle of nervous, chaotic energy.

But then, Bruce recalled that when _he_ had asserted himself, flipping Jeremiah onto his back, it was then that Jeremiah became emotionally sensitive, to the point of shedding tears and expressing guilt over his past actions. 

_I deserve to hurt, after everything I have done to you._

Bruce shot up straight.

So Jeremiah _was_ cognizant of what the other Jeremiah did when he was in control. 

Was it possible, then, for the docile Jeremiah to wrest back control over his own body?

Bruce filed away this question for later. 

He laid down again, thinking back on their first time together to find any additional clues that could lead him to understanding how he could influence which side of Jeremiah appeared.

After flipping Jeremiah onto his back, he had asked Jeremiah if he would like Bruce to be in control. 

This had confused Jeremiah, who had clearly not been used to being given a voice. 

_Nothing means more to me than making sure you are heard._

_We all make mistakes, and you have learned from them._

_I’m here, Miah. You need not worry about the past. We are here, together, now._

Bruce’s eyes widened.

These were all _positive affirmations_. Things Bruce had said to reassure Jeremiah, to show that he cared.

Bruce shot up out of his seat, beginning to pace.

So Jeremiah responded well when Bruce was physically dominant, but emotionally vulnerable. 

As Bruce paced, he began to hatch a plan to get the docile Jeremiah back in control. 

The other Jeremiah was particularly sex-driven. In this form, he was at his most lewd, and seemed bent on getting Bruce involved with him physically in any way he could get away with.

In fact, in this state, he would frequently point out to Bruce how attracted he was to Jeremiah, much to his embarrassment.

During their first time together, Jeremiah returned to his docile, sensitive self when Bruce took control and offered selfless affection.

This, to Bruce, was the key to getting the other Jeremiah to retreat.

He knew that getting the other Jeremiah to admit anything about his docile self would be a losing battle. _That_ Jeremiah used the kindness and gentleness of his docile form as a weapon against Bruce, using it to make him feel guilty for disrespecting him.

No, the other Jeremiah would never voluntarily leave, if he had a choice. Bruce knew he’d have to force him to retreat.

The answer appeared to be through physical contact. Ironically, it was both the driving desire behind the other Jeremiah, as well as his potential undoing.

If Bruce could initiate it with him, and gain control over him physically while being emotionally vulnerable and honest about his feelings for him, perhaps the other Jeremiah would retreat and the docile Jeremiah would come back.

The other Jeremiah seemed uninterested in giving Bruce any information. He was cryptic at best, and evasive at worst.

But perhaps, if he could force him to retreat, he could ask the docile Jeremiah about his other self, and what, if anything, could be done about him.

Could the docile Jeremiah take back control once it had been wrested away?

There were many questions Bruce had that he wanted to ask beyond these.

Who _was_ J?

What did his other self mean when he said he had no idea who he was dealing with?

What had his brother done to him that terrorized him to the point that, even ten years later, he continued to have nightmares about him?

Bruce held his head high, his resolve strengthening and planting roots deep within him.

If he could get Jeremiah to agree to physical contact, he’d have ample opportunity to get his questions answered.

But for now, he would have to extend an olive branch to him, so that Jeremiah knew he was serious.

Bruce stroked his chin, sighing heavily.

He’d have to beat Jeremiah at his own game.

He could only hope his training with Jeremiah would pay off.

* * *

Bruce strode out of his quarters, heading straight for Jeremiah’s room.

He didn’t bother knocking on the wall before entering.

_Fight fire with fire._

If Jeremiah wanted to play tough, he would, too.

“Jeremiah,” he called out, walking in and rounding the corner before colliding with Jeremiah.

Running into Jeremiah during such circumstances had taught him how strong and solid he was.

It was intimidating, to say the least.

As Bruce backed up to recover, Jeremiah peered at him curiously, a smirk spreading across his face as he stalked towards Bruce.

“Why,_ hello_, Bruce,” he cooed. “Come to take advantage of my services as your _personal_ adviser?”

“I am not here for that,” said Bruce, refusing to back up despite Jeremiah advancing on him. “I am here to offer a truce.”

Jeremiah stopped mid-step, tilting his head curiously.

“I...” Bruce sighed heavily. “I need you. You are politically savvy and know how to navigate the complex world of the Senate. You know how to win over others to our cause. I need your skill set to find my father’s killer and root out the corruption in the Senate. I cannot do it alone.” _As much as I wish I could_, he thought.

Jeremiah looked down for a moment before chuckling to himself.

Then, he leaned in, his hand resting on a surface just behind Bruce.

When Bruce looked behind him, he saw he was backed against the wall.

_Don’t panic. This is his modus operandi._

Jeremiah hummed. “Oh, _Bruce_.” His voice rumbled, his face hovering inches from Bruce’s. “Have you forgotten that I offer nothing for free?”

“You are hereby reinstated as my political adviser,” said Bruce, refusing to tear his eyes away from Jeremiah’s.

“And,” Bruce continued, daring to lay a hand around the base of Jeremiah’s neck, “if you do this, I will be sure to reward you.”

_Time to use what I’ve learned about manipulation from him._

With his other hand, he tucked a stray hair behind Jeremiah’s ear, letting his fingers trail along his jawline. “Handsomely.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened.

_Would the docile Jeremiah come back?_

Then, Jeremiah leveled a hungry look at Bruce.

Almost..._predatory_.

Jeremiah pushed Bruce against the wall, his back colliding painfully with a thud.

He brought a hand to Bruce’s neck, squeezing ever so slightly.

“Sounds _lovely_. But,” he paused, “what if I want my reward_ now_?”

His lips brushed against Bruce’s jawline, voice low. Dangerous.

Bruce closed his eyes, willing his arousal to fade.

To Bruce’s bewilderment, Jeremiah pressed a hand directly against his arousal.

Bruce bit down hard on his lip, suppressing the urge to arch back into Jeremiah’s touch.

How did he know...?

_My body was made for you. For this._

Bruce had never felt the weight of such words more strongly than he did now.

“Mmm.” Jeremiah chuckled darkly. “It appears you like that idea.”

_Well, then._

Bruce had planned on Jeremiah not being open to physical contact until after Bruce had proved to him that he was sorry.

It appeared he had grossly underestimated how easy it would be to get Jeremiah on board with engaging with him sexually.

Bruce was not entirely unhappy with this turn of events.

Bruce closed the distance between them, tilting his head up to plant a bruising kiss on Jeremiah’s lips.

As Bruce opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, Jeremiah used the hand around Bruce’s neck to press him back against the wall, breaking the kiss. 

Jeremiah did not wait for him to catch his breath before crushing his lips to Bruce’s, his hand reaching down to rub against Bruce’s cock.

_Shit._ This was officially not going according to plan.

Bruce needed to find a way to take back control. His current position against the wall, combined with his height disadvantage, was not conducive to this goal.

_Think, Bruce, think!_

Bruce remembered their first time together. He had been able to pin Jeremiah down on his back while on the couch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce spotted a reclining couch. _Perfect._

The hard part was getting Jeremiah to move there, when he had the perfect position already to maintain dominance.

Bruce broke the kiss, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

“Wait, Miah.”

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, his lips turning downward into a pout.

_You have a kind, trusting face; a disarming charm; a persona that screams naivete. Others will underestimate you because of these qualities._

“Let’s move over here.” Bruce took the hand around his neck in his own, careful not to break eye contact with him as he led them to the couch.

Bruce gave him his most innocent smile as he did so.

_Pretend it’s the docile Miah._

Just as Bruce was about to seat himself on the couch, Jeremiah took hold of his shoulder, forcing Bruce down on his back on the couch.

As Jeremiah straddled him, he hummed. “I suppose I _do_ want you comfortable when I claim your virginity for my own.” He gave Bruce a wicked smirk.

_Fuck._ Bruce’s cock swelled at this, even as the hairs on his arms raised.

_Not good, not good, NOT good!_

Jeremiah bit down hard on Bruce’s neck, and Bruce’s back bowed at his touch.

Everything inside Bruce was screaming at him to run, but Bruce refused to give up.

He wanted the docile Jeremiah back. 

He had to try, for Jeremiah’s sake.

As Jeremiah sucked at where he had bitten Bruce, Bruce frantically tried to think of how he could regain control.

_Others will underestimate you because of these qualities. Thus, the element of surprise - of you mastering emotional manipulation - will put them on their back foot._

_The element of surprise._

Of course! How could he have forgotten?

Bruce closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer to the gods that his plan would work.

Bruce gently cupped Jeremiah’s cheek as he sucked at Bruce’s neck.

When Jeremiah finally looked up from his ministrations, Bruce gave him a warm smile.

Then, he slapped Jeremiah _hard_ across the face.

Jeremiah raised his hands up to his face, feeling where Bruce had hit him.

_Now is my chance._

Bruce took advantage of Jeremiah’s initial shock, pulling back on his hair with one hand and using his other hand to push at the center of Jeremiah’s chest.

Jeremiah fell back onto the couch, and Bruce quickly straddled his stomach, keeping hold of his hair.

“Miah. Listen to me.” Bruce breathed in deeply. “I was wrong about you and Alfred.”

Jeremiah grit his teeth, arching his back in an attempt to get Bruce off of him. “Funny enough, I do not particularly _care_ to hear your apologies right now.”

“I’m serious!” Bruce hit his fist against the couch next to Jeremiah’s head. 

Jeremiah stilled.

“You were only trying to protect me, just as he was. I just…” Bruce’s voice shook. “I really miss him, Miah. I feel _so_ alone.” 

Bruce’s eyes began to well with tears, but he didn’t care.

“I saw him trying to protect me, and all I could see was my father’s lifeless body in his room all over again. I could not bear to see one more person dead, especially not in my name.”

Tears streamed down Bruce’s face, one of them dropping onto Jeremiah’s cheek.

“I blamed myself for his death. Actually, I still do. But it was unfair of me to shift the blame onto you. It was not your fault that I had no skills or weapons at my disposal to save him.” 

Bruce sniffled. “You were only doing your job and protecting the Emperor. I should not have faulted you for that.”

Bruce lightly, delicately, brushed a hair away from Jeremiah’s forehead. “I let my guilt color my judgment, and I said many, many things I did not mean. You even called me out on one of them. You don’t mean nothing to me. You are my very best friend.”

Bruce knelt down, pressing a kiss to Jeremiah’s shoulder and letting his head rest there. “And I hope you can forgive me for how I treated you after Alfred passed on to the afterlife.”

Bruce’s throat seized up. Every single time, it stung when he remembered Alfred was gone.

For the first time in minutes, Jeremiah moved, placing his arms tentatively around Bruce. 

“I...” Jeremiah sighed. “I hate when we fight.”

Bruce nodded into his shoulder, sniffling. “Me too. You mean everything to me. Nothing feels right when things are not good between us.”

Bruce heard a faint ripping sound before feeling a tap on his forehead.

Bruce lifted his head. Jeremiah was holding a piece of torn fabric between his fingers.

“Your nose might appreciate this,” Jeremiah said, a smile beginning to form on his face.

Bruce felt his face warm. “Thank you, Miah.” He took the fabric and blew his nose.

Then, he gave the fabric a once-over.

“Miah, did you - “

“Yes.” Jeremiah pointed to his shoulder where a piece of his tunic was missing. “It is right here, after all, which is most convenient for when I do not want to get up and fetch a cloth.”

Bruce huffed a laugh, blowing his nose again and tossing the fabric onto the floor.

Bruce stared deeply into Jeremiah’s eyes.

“Hey,” Bruce breathed.

_Was the docile Jeremiah finally back?_

Jeremiah smiled gently. “Hey.” He looked up at Bruce with wonder.

_Yes._

Bruce hugged him tightly, tears prickling at his eyes again. “I missed you.”

Jeremiah wrapped his arms around Bruce, but not before chuckling lightly. “I...missed you too? Though I_ have_ been here in the villa with you for some time.”

Bruce pulled away, shaking his head. “No, I mean...” He sighed. “I missed _this_ you.”

Jeremiah bit his lip. 

“Miah, sometimes, it feels like I am interacting with two completely different Jeremiah’s. There is you, but then there is also another Jeremiah, who...scares me, if I may be frank.”

“I...I think I know what you might be speaking of.” Jeremiah swallowed, looking down. “He scares me too, Bruce.” 

He looked back up at Bruce. “I would not be able to live with myself if he ever laid harm to a single hair on your head.”

“Are you not able to control when he comes out?”

Jeremiah worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “This is still quite new to me. It has only begun happening recently.”

Bruce leaned forward. “When did it start?”

Jeremiah sighed. “When your father passed on to the afterlife. I am not sure why that would cause an entirely new being to arise within me, however.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “My father _did_ mean a lot to you, did he not?”

“He did. But...” Jeremiah paused. “This other me seems to only come out when you are around.”

Bruce gulped. “Have you noticed anything in particular that would trigger his emergence?”

Jeremiah carded a hand through his hair. “The only pattern I can tell thus far is that he will take over if I feel personally affronted by you. Sadly, that seems to occur quite often. And I cannot control him emerging or while he is in control.”

Bruce nodded. “That is the only pattern I have seen, as well. But I think I may have found a way to force you to come back into control.”

Jeremiah tilted his head, curious.

“I found out just now,” Bruce continued, “that if I gain control during a, uh, physical encounter, and make my affections for you known, he retreats and you return.”

“Wow!” Jeremiah exclaimed. “What a brilliant find!” He pulled Bruce closer. “And you say that _I_ have a brilliant mind.”

Bruce felt his cheeks flush. “It was a huge gamble, but I am happy it paid off. I just feel awful that I essentially had to seduce you to get you back to normal.”

Jeremiah laughed. “You may seduce me any day of the week, Bruce. I believe that _is_ one thing my other self and I have in common.”

“So you are fully aware when he does take control, correct?”

Jeremiah nodded.

“Then do you know what he meant when he said ‘You have no idea who you’re dealing with’? When I punched you before? I have been puzzled by what your other self would mean by this.”

Jeremiah furrowed his brows. “I am not sure. But the first thing I thought of when you repeated that was of my brother. He used to say that all the time growing up.”

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line, pondering what that might mean for their situation.

Then, he thought of something else.

“Miah, you said you still have nightmares about him, did you not?”

Jeremiah gulped, looking away. “Yes.” He sighed. “If possible, I would like to not talk about that.”

Bruce gave a reluctant nod. “I will not push, then. But I wonder if perhaps that has something to do with all this.”

Jeremiah shook his head fervently. “I highly doubt that. It’s been ten years since...” He trailed off.

_My brother was nothing but darkness incarnate when we were growing up._

“You said he was manipulative, wanting nothing more than for you to be like him. Perhaps he haunts you from the afterlife?”

Jeremiah snorted. “If only that were true.”

This made Bruce remember another question he had.

“This is a bit unrelated,” he prefaced, “but when you and I first came together, you had cried out someone’s name before mine. Someone whose name started with a J?”

Jeremiah stilled, almost statuesque.

“Y-Yes,” he said shakily. “That...would be Jerome.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a wave of jealousy flare up in his chest.

“I had suggested to your other self that it might have been a past lover, but he was pretty cryptic about who he was to you.”

Jeremiah looked down as he furrowed his brows. “You were exactly right in your assessment.”

Bruce nodded. “How did you come to know him?”

Jeremiah looked back up at him, giving him a sad smile. “Through family.”

Bruce swallowed. _A family friend, then._

“He must have been very important to you.”

Jeremiah sighed heavily. “Yes. We were both quite young when it happened. He was my first. I have heard your first is the one you never forget about.”

“Do you find that statement to be true?” Bruce silently prayed the answer would be no.

Jeremiah paused. “It’s...complicated. Sometimes I do miss him, despite all the horrible things he did. He made me feel like I deserved them. But then, sometimes he could be so loving, and would do things for me that he would never do for anyone else.” He looked down. “To excess, I would argue.”

Bruce was curious, but did not want to pry, not wanting to break the fragility of the moment.

“I suppose all I can say is that I am glad you are not still with him, and I hope you never see him again.”

Jeremiah looked away, hands beginning to tremble slightly. “Me too.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, taking hold of Jeremiah’s hands. “I am sorry for bringing up such a distressing topic. I was just - “

“It’s fine.” Jeremiah looked back at Bruce, wearing a small smile. “I feel better now that I am far away from him and am with you.”

_What the hell had Jerome done to him that made him so fearful?_

Bruce’s jaw tensed. While highly unlikely that it would ever happen, if he ever saw Jerome, he would probably punch him in the face for hurting Jeremiah. If not worse.

Bruce shook his head to himself, bringing Jeremiah’s hands to his mouth to plant kisses along his fingertips.

He felt sorry for Jeremiah. His family had died in a horrible tragedy, his mother suffering a horrible death in the process; his brother, though dead, had been darkness incarnate and still gave him nightmares even ten years later; and his first lover Jerome had been an abusive and horrible partner to him.

It was really no wonder that Jeremiah had this other self to him.

It was just as Alfred said - in nearly every facet of his life, Jeremiah had been powerless; a victim of his circumstances.

Jeremiah smiled at Bruce’s affections, placing a hand on Bruce’s cheek.

“How did today’s session at the Senate go?”

Bruce exhaled. “I called off the investigation into RELAC.”

Jeremiah bolted upright, causing Bruce to nearly fall off him.

“You cannot be serious.” Jeremiah leveled a stern look at him.

“I am.” Bruce looked away. “I do not wish for more loved ones to die on my watch. The timing of Alfred’s death coming right after our announcement to the Senate is too close to be a coincidence.”

Jeremiah took Bruce by the shoulders. “This is not a time for us to back down. How will we learn of your father’s killer if we do not investigate the leads we have been given?”

Bruce sent a glare his way. “If we are dead, we will learn nothing surrounding his death, while giving complete control of the empire to a corrupt Senate.”

“Taking this lying down is not the answer, Bruce.” Jeremiah leaned in close, eyes boring into Bruce’s. “I know you want to protect yourself. But this is the time to make the hard choices. It took your father many years to uncover what he found with RELAC. If we squander the opportunity now, it may be many years before we get the chance again, and by then who knows if we will have been killed off.”

Jeremiah heaved a sigh. “If the end result is the same, I know I would be better able to live with myself if I knew I was doing everything I could to make things right. With your father, and with the Senate.”

Bruce chewed on his lip, thinking.

_Please, my son, learn from my mistakes._

Bruce gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose you are right.”

Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “Wonderful! Now, I have to think on how we can do damage control on what you said today to the Senate.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Is that really necessary? I have already embarrassed myself plenty in front of the Senate.”

“I mean…” Jeremiah furrowed his brows in concentration. Then, he perked up.

“You might be on to something, actually.” Jeremiah gave him a smirk. “It may not be necessary to tell the Senate we are continuing where we left off in the investigation. In fact, it might be to our advantage if they believe we are not actively pursuing leads. Their guard will be let down, and we would be that much more likely to discover information related to the corruption in the Senate, and to the death of your father.”

Bruce cracked a smile. “I am certainly not opposed to a covert operation. However, I am unsure as to how we can follow up on the leads we have without arousing suspicion.”

“Hm.” Jeremiah pursed his lips. “Well, we do have the names of everyone on the council. The five senators and five representatives from these companies are known.”

“That is true. I worry though that if we interview anyone that is part of RELAC, we will be found out.” 

“You’re quite right.” Jeremiah ran a hand through his hair, looking off into the distance as he chewed on his lip.

Then, his eyes lit up, and he took Bruce’s hands between his.

“Bruce, I’ve got it!”

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. Jeremiah was so adorable when he got excited.

“I am all ears, Miah.”

“What if we went straight to the top? We bypass talking to the senators, or to the representatives from these five corporations.” Jeremiah leapt up, beginning to pace. “I think our best chance at getting information is if we talk with someone with a vested interest in the company who is not already part of the council. That way, we do not arouse suspicion within RELAC or the Senate in general, and we still could get information that could point us in the right direction.”

“That sounds like a huge gamble. How do we know someone at the company would voluntarily tell the Emperor what is going on within RELAC without fear of exile or being put to death?”

Jeremiah smiled. “I believe the key lies in not telling them who we truly are.”

Bruce cocked his head. “That implies we will not be recognized by those involved within the company.”

“True. But you will be amazed at how much unlike ourselves we appear when we don civilian, rather than royal, clothing.” Jeremiah clapped his hands together excitedly. “Oh! We could even muss up our hair, and use colored pigment to change the color.”

Bruce laughed. “That might be more useful for you, since you have particularly unique hair.”

“That is fair.” Jeremiah stopped in front of Bruce. “I think if we disguise ourselves, and talk directly to the owners of these companies, we stand a good chance of finding out key information that could lead us to the killer.”

“How would we gain an audience with the owners of these companies? Surely they will not talk to any peasant walking in from the street.”

“Good point.” Jeremiah paused. “What if we still did don royal clothing, but said we came on the Senate’s behalf looking for companies to contract with? One of the companies is in the textile industry. Laughlin and Sons Cotton Refineries. We could say we were interested in striking up a deal with them to furnish our senators with uniform togas.”

Bruce smiled. “I like that.”

“And,” Jeremiah continued, “since we would be government employees, we would be fully within our rights to ask questions about RELAC in passing. Since we would only be there to negotiate a deal for getting fabric, we would be a neutral enough party that they might feel comfortable discussing the council’s activities freely.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I am not fully convinced they will simply talk about RELAC with someone they do not know, government employee or otherwise.”

Jeremiah paced, stroking his chin in thought.

Then, he stopped in his tracks.

“We are forgetting our ace in the hole. We have _Selina_ in our pocket. We can say we were sent by her to negotiate the deal.” Jeremiah grinned. “If they know we are representing a member of RELAC, they should have no trouble opening up. They would likely presume we have existing knowledge about RELAC’s activities.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “That would not only ensure their trust in us, but it would also make it easy to cover our tracks knowing that Selina would vouch for us if they happen to ask her about our meeting later.”

“Exactly!” Jeremiah sat down next to Bruce. “I think we have a plan. But we would need to practice what we will say and how we can bring up the council’s activities in a way that would not arouse suspicion as to our true intentions.”

Bruce nodded. “Agreed.”

Jeremiah took Bruce’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Let’s inform Selina of our intent to hold the meeting with them, so that she knows in advance before questions are raised to her. We will use her to schedule the meeting and we can go from there.”

“It sounds like we are in agreement, then.” Bruce laid a kiss on Jeremiah’s forehead. “Thank you, Miah. I missed this.”

“Me too.” Jeremiah smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Ready to start rehearsing our acts?” He winked.

Bruce giggled. “Ready when you are.”


	18. Chapter 18

The next day, Bruce went to the Senate with Jeremiah to meet with Selina and tell her their plan for investigating the companies involved with RELAC. 

Once the Senate’s proceedings for the day were concluded, Bruce stood, striding quickly over to the exit. 

Bruce heard rather than saw Jeremiah jump out of his seat to catch up with him. 

“Why, you’re in a rush today.” 

Bruce turned around, a smirk pulling on Jeremiah’s lips.

“I would like to catch Selina before she leaves for the day.”

With that, Bruce wheeled back around to descend down the steps of the Senate.

Scanning the sea of senators, Bruce caught a glimpse of Selina’s trademark curls, and rushed down to meet her.

He tapped gingerly on her shoulder, but as she turned to face him, her eyes flashed with something he could not decipher.

She narrowed her eyes at him before facing forward again, continuing down the steps.

“Selina! What - “

“_You_,” Selina grit out, “would be better off leaving me alone today.”

Bruce walked down so that he was directly in front of her, facing her.

_What the hell had brought this on?_

“Why?” 

Selina glared down at him. “I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand.”

_Oh._ That.

Bruce had forgotten how they’d departed from one another last time. 

_Do you think bowing down in submission to whoever the perpetrator is is protecting the lives of the innocent?_

_I will do what I must to protect myself and the people I love. I do not expect you to understand._

Bruce took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Selina, I offer my sincerest apologies for how I - “

She raised a hand, stopping him. “No. I do not wish to hear what you have to say.” She crossed her arms, facing away from Bruce.

Bruce sighed heavily, stealing a glance at Jeremiah out of the corner of his eye.

Jeremiah stood, fixing his gaze on Selina, as if curious as to what she might do next.

Selina pursed her lips. “Bruce, you are _truly_ an expert in scorning others’ affections for you.”

Bruce swallowed, eyes landing on Jeremiah.

His eyes were downcast, lips pressed tightly together, as if pondering something.

Then, he straightened.

“I most certainly couldn’t agree more,” Jeremiah said, walking up one step to face Selina fully.

Bruce’s eye twitched. _Is he really doing this now?_

Then, he saw Jeremiah’s hand behind his back, index finger out towards Bruce.

_Hold that thought._

Jeremiah brought both hands out in front of him, lacing them together. “Why, just the other day, he said I meant nothing to him, and then the next day promptly recanted that statement.”

Selina didn’t answer, but she pressed her lips together, as if trying to hold back a laugh. Then, she composed herself.

“It bothers me, Bruce, that you would so willfully discontinue the investigation after all that I have done for you.” She looked past Jeremiah to where Bruce was standing. “Have you not considered how much I would lose if it were found out that it was me who handed over the evidence against RELAC?”

“He has,” said Jeremiah, cutting in before Bruce could even open his mouth. “And that is why we have begun investigating once more. Though, we would appreciate it if you handled such knowledge with discretion.” Jeremiah looked over at Bruce, quirking a smile. “We are operating covertly.”

Selina’s eyes widened, taking a step back. “You are serious, then?” Her eyes flicked over to Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “If I die in the attempt, at least I will go on to the afterlife knowing I did all I could to find my father’s killer.” He looked over at Jeremiah. “I think we _all_ are operating on the assumption that we are living on borrowed time until this matter is resolved.”

Selina swallowed, nodding slowly. “I suppose I should revise my belief that you are a coward, then.” She sent a smirk Bruce’s way. 

“Do not be so presumptuous as to infer I have forgiven you for what you said before, however.” The smirk slid off her face, her eyebrows raised as a warning. “You would be wise to learn how to not insult those who are trying to guide you in the right direction.”

“I am learning as we speak,” Bruce said. “From you, as well as from Jeremiah.” 

“I am pleased to hear this, Your Grace.” Selina bowed her head slightly. “Is there any way I can assist in the investigation? Have you turned up anything yet?”

Bruce shook his head. “We have just been brainstorming a plan on how to conduct a reconnaissance and gather more information.” He nodded in Jeremiah’s direction. “Jeremiah thought it might be prudent to interrogate the founders of the companies aligned with RELAC about what they might know about the council’s activities, and if they had any connection to my father’s death.”

Jeremiah waved his hands. “I would say ‘interrogate’ is a bit of a strong word, but yes, that is essentially our plan. We have practiced thoroughly in preparation for meeting with each of the owners of these five companies. Our plan is to meet first with Rory Laughlin, the owner of Laughlin and Sons Cotton Refineries, masquerading as Senate assistants sent on your behalf to strike a deal for getting fabric for uniforms for our senators.”

Selina cocked her head. “My lord, would you not be recognized as the Emperor?”

“Not if I do not _look_ like the Emperor.” Bruce smirked. “We have disguises planned so that we are not recognized.”

Selina bit down on her bottom lip. “This is risky. How do you know you will get any usable information without being found out?”

“We don’t,” Jeremiah said. “But we would surely only get stonewalled talking to the senators in RELAC, or to the public relations representatives from these companies aligned to RELAC, would you not agree?”

Selina pursed her lips. “I would agree with that.”

“If these owners from the companies know you have sent us, however,” Jeremiah continued, “they may be more likely to speak freely regarding RELAC’s activities and any connection they might have to the late Emperor.”

Selina sighed heavily. “I suppose you are right. Still, pardon my skepticism, as if this all falls apart, it will be my head on a platter.” She shuddered. “The senatorial elections are in a few days. I cannot bear to think about the worst-case scenario if it is discovered that I am the traitor in RELAC.”

“I do not blame you at all.” Jeremiah nodded solemnly, lips pressed into a thin line. “I have done everything in my power while concocting this plan to shield you from blame, save for getting us in the door with them.” 

“I…” Selina paused. “Alright. I will reach out and set up the meeting with Rory Laughlin.” She locked eyes with Bruce. “Do _not_ make me regret this.”

Bruce couldn’t help but give her a wide grin. “Thank you, Selina. This will help us tremendously, and I appreciate your faith in our idea.”

Selina huffed, turning away to walk back down the steps of the Senate. 

“I do not, in fact, have a lot of faith in your idea.”

Selina paused, mid-step. 

Then, she turned back to them.

“But, I _do_ have faith in the both of you.”

* * *

The next day, Selina gave Bruce word that he and Jeremiah would be meeting with Rory Laughlin at his cotton farm, navigable via the Tiber River. 

She had been able to schedule it day-of, meaning that they could meet with him later that same day.

When the Senate’s proceedings were over for the day, Bruce and Jeremiah hurried back to the villa, needing to don their disguises before setting course for the farm.

At the moment, Jeremiah was finger-combing some gel into Bruce’s hair, much to Bruce’s dismay.

“Did we not agree I did not need pigment? I am decidedly _not_ the one with unusually-colored hair.” Bruce pouted as Jeremiah swept his fingers through Bruce’s hair.

“This isn’t dye, Bruce.” Jeremiah grabbed a fine-toothed comb from the table beside them. “I am trying to make your hair a bit less wavy. Your hair has natural volume and curls, but it makes you stand out, and not in the way that we want. You are supposed to be _my_ assistant, after all.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, wincing a bit as Jeremiah used the comb to tame and flatten his waves. “I know it is more believable for _me_ to be the one who is the assistant, due to my height, but has no one _ever_ had a helper be taller than them?”

Jeremiah sighed, but Bruce didn’t miss the smile that played along his lips. “It is not just your height that makes you a more believable fit for the subservient role.”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Oh, Bruce, I only mean that you are still quite new to the art of social manipulation.” He turned, grabbing a handheld mirror from the table. “I have had more experience with using it in my life than you, and we need one person to sit back, observe, and listen. To be on high alert, ready to intervene if something is amiss. You are a _much_ better fit for that role.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at him. “I believe it was _I_ who was able to use what you taught me to get you back in control over your body.”

“That is true. I cannot argue against that.” Jeremiah crouched down behind where Bruce was sitting in his seat, angling the mirror toward them. “But do not misunderstand me - I still consider the method by which you got me back into control to be cheating.” He smirked.

Bruce took a look at his reflection in the mirror, and was amazed.

Jeremiah had parted his hair on the opposite side of his head where he normally parted it, and it was a much deeper part than before. The gel weighed down his hair, making it pin-straight and nearly flat against his head and neck.

“How do you like it?” Bruce jumped at the question.

“It looks…odd.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “Perhaps because you are not used to it lacking volume.”

Bruce nodded. “Perhaps. You are quite good at this, though.”

“Years of practice,” Jeremiah said. “My brother and I would play with each other’s hair when we were little. He would dye mine dark green and gel it down like how yours is.”

Bruce huffed out a laugh. “Dark green is a very unusual choice of dye for one’s hair.”

“Agreed.” Jeremiah set the mirror down on the table, turning back to Bruce. “He would also put white pigment all over my face and line my lips with red.”

Bruce chuckled. “Again, an unusual choice. Is that not what women sometimes do to their faces? I am uncertain as to why he would do that to yours.”

“I cannot say I know exactly why, either.” Jeremiah sighed gently. “He would always say I was as crazy as he was, and that the face pigments he put on me were what I actually looked like underneath it all.”

Bruce tilted his head. “I cannot claim to understand the logic behind his words.”

“Me neither. He’s…” Jeremiah paused. “He was always _much_ smarter than me, though. He could outmaneuver me easily in the area of social manipulation, and he’d always best me in hand-to-hand combat.” Jeremiah sighed. “Come to think of it, there was really only one thing I was better at than him.”

“And that would be…?” Bruce leaned in, intrigued.

Jeremiah smiled. “Archery. We were both self-taught, and thought it would be useful to know for self-defense. But I think it wasn’t a good fit for him in terms of his personality.”

“How so?”

“It’s simple: He was more motivated by other methods of self-defense. It was more satisfying for him to be able to knock me down to the ground during a fight, compared to shooting an arrow and hitting a deer with it.” Jeremiah fiddled with his hands. “He could show off to his friends how good he was at fistfights by kicking me in the shins and look cool doing it. Shooting an arrow didn’t bring him nearly as much prestige. So he didn’t bother putting much effort into learning archery.” 

“So by default, you are better than him in archery?”

Jeremiah smirked. “Not just by default. I am _quite_ good at it. Remind me to show you sometime. I think it would be useful for you to know how to use a bow and arrow, should the situation ever arise that that was all you had for self-defense.”

Bruce nodded. “Agreed. I will.”

Jeremiah stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to dye my hair an absolutely _boring_ shade of brown.”

Bruce huffed. “If you think brown is boring, wait until you lay eyes upon _my_ hair.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, picking up a vial of black dye and pouring some of it onto his fingers. “Actually, I find your black hair to be quite appealing. The very opposite of boring, in fact. It works well for you.” Jeremiah began smoothing the liquid over his hair.

“Forgive me if I believe your analysis to be biased.” Bruce smirked.

“Perhaps it is.” Jeremiah used both hands to massage the dye into his hair, working it into his scalp. 

His eyes closed briefly, and Bruce was instantly taken back to when he had seen Jeremiah bathing back at the palace.

Jeremiah met his gaze. “You are thinking about something.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I am _always_ thinking about something.”

“Feel free to share.” 

Bruce stepped toward Jeremiah, wrapping his arms around Jeremiah’s waist. “Perhaps if all goes well today, we can celebrate by bathing together afterward.”

Jeremiah bit back a moan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah’s eyes flashed open. “You should count yourself lucky my hands are covered in dye.” He waved his hands, flexing his fingers to show the black dye on them. “Otherwise, I would take hold of you _right now_ and have us _celebrate_ through the meeting time.”

Bruce laughed, pulling away. “I am certain Selina would kill us both if we failed to show for the meeting that she arranged for us.”

Jeremiah heaved a put-upon sigh. “I _suppose_ you are right.” 

* * *

To not attract attention, Bruce had arranged for the Praetorian Guard to be stationed covertly along the perimeter of the farm that day, rather than having them flank him as they normally would. 

He hoped against hope that their presence would not be required, but the last few weeks had taught him to be well-prepared for any eventuality.

As they docked onto the shore and headed up the dirt road to the farm, Bruce felt his breaths coming in quick spurts.

“Bruce.” Jeremiah placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Bruce gulped. “There is much that could go wrong during this meeting.”

Jeremiah squeezed Bruce’s shoulder gently. “I know. But there is also much that we could learn about your father’s death that makes it worth the risk.”

Bruce nodded, staring down at the ground. 

“Hey.” Jeremiah pulled back on Bruce’s shoulder, wheeling him around to face him. “You are _not_ going to be alone. I am here, and this is hardly the most terrifying thing I have endured in my life.”

Bruce cracked a small smile at this. “You are quite right. I suppose we have both lived through far worse.”

“Exactly.” Jeremiah cupped Bruce’s cheek. “I will _always_ protect you and shield you from harm. That is my highest priority.”

Jeremiah pressed a light kiss to Bruce’s forehead before stepping back, removing his hand from Bruce’s cheek.

Bruce immediately missed the warmth of Jeremiah’s hand.

“I believe I see the farm up ahead on the left,” Jeremiah said, pointing over Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce turned around, squinting until he saw a red villa standing out above the fields of cotton crops.

_Looks like that’s it._

With that, Bruce continued down the road, marveling at the expanse of cotton crops that stretched out into the horizon.

“Rory Laughlin must be a very wealthy man.”

Jeremiah nodded. “I have heard he nearly holds a monopoly in cotton production in Rome.”

As they drew closer, Bruce saw more and more cotton pickers working in the fields.

Suddenly, someone cried out, and Bruce heard the sound of a whip cracking.

He winced, stopping in his tracks.

Jeremiah walked a few more steps before stopping and turning to Bruce, a neutral expression on his face.

“Did you hear that?” 

Jeremiah swallowed, looking down. “I would recognize that sound anywhere.”

Bruce furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Jeremiah sighed in resignation. “Whipping was my mother’s preferred method of punishment.”

_Oh._

“She was particularly keen on it with me, at least.” Jeremiah bit down on his lip. “Sometimes she would use a whip on my brother, but much less so compared to me.”

“Why is that?”

Jeremiah’s hands trembled at his sides. “I believe she was scared of him.” He met Bruce’s eyes.

_God, what a family._

Bruce shook his head. “I am so sorry. I do not condone that sort of punishment being used on children.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “At least my brother did not get whipped nearly as much as I did. Though I’m not certain that ended up mattering in the end.”

Before Bruce could ask him what he meant by that, he spotted a figure running towards them from further up the road by the farm.

“It appears we have company.”

Jeremiah looked behind him, nodding. “Selina did say we would be greeted by a personal assistant to Rory.”

As the figure drew closer, Bruce could make out a woman with long raven-black hair, cascading down past her shoulders as she ran toward them.

Jeremiah waved to her, and she waved back.

When she reached them, she leaned forward, hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

Bruce made to stand next to Jeremiah, but then remembered what they had practiced.

“Stay behind me,” Jeremiah had said before. “You are my personal assistant. Being in the subservient role means giving the other space and discretion. It will help sell our respective roles.”

Bruce stayed behind Jeremiah, but drew closer, if only to be closer for introductions.

The woman straightened, her panting having died down.

“Greetings. I am Mallory North, personal assistant to Mr. Laughlin.” She bowed her head, her eyes not leaving Jeremiah’s. “You must be the representatives sent to us by Senator Selina Kyle.”

Jeremiah bowed at the waist. “Pleased to meet you.” He took Mallory’s hand in his, placing a kiss to the back of it.

Bruce’s eye twitched. 

“I am Xander Wilde, and this is my personal assistant, David.” Jeremiah let go of her hand to gesture to Bruce behind him. 

Bruce gave her a smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. 

_Do not speak unless spoken to, and unless absolutely necessary._

Mallory sent a cursory glance Bruce’s way before looking back at Jeremiah. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

Bruce didn’t miss the color on her cheeks, or the way her eyes flicked down to Jeremiah’s lips.

“I will be happy to lead you to Mr. Laughlin’s estate. He is waiting for you in his office.”

Jeremiah nodded, gesturing toward the farm with one hand. “Lead the way, my dear.” He smiled down at her, eyes crinkling at the edges.

Bruce’s jaw tensed. 

_Really, Jeremiah?_

He had known Jeremiah would be resorting to his standard manipulation tactics to gain others’ trust and elicit information.

It was an entirely different story, though, to witness him dropping the same terms of endearment so casually onto others as he did with him. 

To see him leveling the same facial expressions, the same genuine smile, at Mallory was…unprecedented.

As Bruce followed the two of them, he couldn’t help but feel as though Jeremiah had hidden from him the extent to which he would go to gain their trust.

As if Bruce had been deliberately shielded from knowing how _friendly_ Jeremiah would be.

And all for what? Did Jeremiah really think he was somehow sparing Bruce’s feelings by choosing not to warn him in advance that flirtation would be his chief weapon?

_I will always protect you and shield you from harm. That is my highest priority._

Bruce rolled his eyes, nearly snorting aloud. 

The worst part about all of this was how much Bruce felt he was being treated like a child.

To Bruce, all this talk about having roles to play to get information related to the investigation felt increasingly like an excuse to sideline Bruce to maximize the efficacy of Jeremiah’s sexual charisma.

Bruce exhaled loudly. 

_This is going to be a long meeting._

* * *

Mallory led the two of them to the farm, holding the door open for Jeremiah and Bruce.

Jeremiah held the door with a hand, gesturing toward the entrance. “Please, I insist that you go first, my lady.” 

A flush rose to her cheeks as she nodded furiously before stepping inside.

Jeremiah let go of the door, not bothering to wait for Bruce to reach them.

_I will not dispense the same niceties to you as I will to others, being that you are my personal assistant. Do not take it personally._

Bruce rolled his eyes, already feeling the strain from so often repeating the action within the last ten minutes.

He caught the door just as it was almost completely shut, leveling a glare at the back of Jeremiah’s head.

He had yet to look back at Bruce ever since Mallory had run up to them over ten minutes ago.

After running to catch up with Jeremiah and Mallory, Bruce found himself in the middle of a large, open hall.

The walls were a dark gray, which gave the hall an almost haunted look.

“The color choice for the interior walls is intriguing,” Jeremiah remarked.

_No shit_, thought Bruce.

“Any particular reason why gray was chosen?” Jeremiah asked.

Mallory chuckled. “That is almost always the first question our guests ask. Mr. Laughlin will be able to tell you more about it.”

Jeremiah bowed his head. “I look forward to asking him shortly.”

Mallory ducked her head, perhaps out of embarrassment from the smile sent her way, if Bruce had to guess.

They reached what looked to be a study, and Mallory rapped lightly on the wall.

“Mr. Laughlin? Senator Selina Kyle’s representatives are here for their meeting.” 

A loud voice boomed from the other side of the wall.

“Of course! Send them right in!”

Mallory bowed her head, gesturing her hand around the corner.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, looking only at Jeremiah.

Jeremiah’s voice was smooth, low. “Trust me, my dear, the pleasure was all _mine_.” 

He kissed the back of her hand, and Bruce saw her close her eyes briefly, as if relishing the moment.

Bruce sighed heavily, pointedly looking anywhere but at them.

When Bruce glanced back at them, Jeremiah had let go of her hand and was striding into the study.

Bruce brushed past Mallory without a second look, following closely behind Jeremiah as they entered the study.

When Bruce looked behind him, Mallory was gone.

_Good riddance._

Bruce turned back, and followed Jeremiah to a corner of the study where a bearded man, portly and stout, was waiting for them.

Bruce could only assume the man was Rory.

“Welcome, welcome!” The man jumped up from his reclining couch, clapping his hands together. “Rory Laughlin. It is an immense pleasure to meet you both!” 

Bruce winced, feeling his ears ring already from how loud Rory’s voice was.

Jeremiah, for his part, did not register any discomfort on his face, instead reaching out to shake hands with Rory.

“Mr. Laughlin, I am Xander Wilde, and this,” he gestured vaguely behind him, “is my personal assistant, David.”

Bruce ground his teeth together. Jeremiah had _still_ managed to avoid eye contact with him.

Bruce bowed his head low in acknowledgment to Rory.

“Wonderful to meet others who are associates of Selina’s!” Rory vigorously shook Jeremiah’s hand for several seconds. “She is an absolute _gem_.”

“I could not agree more,” said Jeremiah, smiling pleasantly. 

Bruce didn’t miss the way Jeremiah flexed his hand as he pulled out of the handshake, almost as if it had been squeezed too hard.

“Please, have a seat, gentlemen!” Rory gestured grandly to a reclining couch opposite his own. “I am quite eager to discuss the deal Selina sent over.”

Jeremiah grinned, sitting himself down a full meter away from where Bruce was seated. “As am I. But first, I did want to ask about the color of your interior walls. Your assistant Mallory mentioned you would be able to provide the story behind them.”

Rory laughed boisterously, plopping down on his couch. “Oh, of course! Well, the reason for the color is that I was given the gray stone for the walls at a discount compared to stone painted with a different color.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “That is truly fascinating.”

“Indeed!” Rory bellowed. “In fact, I bought the stone from Eric Stanton, from Stanton Holding Industries. You have likely heard of him from Selina, since his company is part of RELAC.”

_Interesting._

Bruce leaned forward. This was confirmation that the member companies within RELAC were familiar with one another.

Jeremiah nodded. “Stanton Holding Industries is a real estate company, is it not?”

Rory chuckled. “That is certainly one way to phrase it!”

Bruce pursed his lips, looking to Jeremiah to gauge his reaction.

As was expected, Jeremiah’s expression was indecipherable, and exuded nothing but pleasantry. 

Jeremiah cocked his head slightly. “How do you mean?”

“Hah! Well,” Rory paused, stroking his beard in thought, “unless you had worked with him before, all you would know is that Stanton Holding Industries is a real estate company. But the name says it all.”

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I must ask what holding, in this context, means.”

Rory coughed into his hand. “I should warn you that I have never met Eric Stanton before. He is a man shrouded in mystery, and his company reflects that. So what I am about to tell you is known only to the members of RELAC, and to trusted associates of these members.” He chuckled. “Since Selina has sent you, I know it is safe to tell you.”

Rory leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “Have you ever heard of a holding cell?”

Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “I in fact have. Is that not where criminals are held before facing trial?”

“You are correct!” Rory began talking excitedly with his hands. “It used to be that the Senate would designate certain areas within Rome to have real estate reserved for holding cells for criminals to await trial. However, as Rome has grown, the Senate has begun relying on contracts with companies like Stanton Holding Industries to build prisons on an ad hoc basis, wherever the demand is.” 

“I see,” said Jeremiah. “I suppose it makes sense that the Senate cannot be tasked to micromanage the details on building such structures.”

“Exactly!” Rory exclaimed. “Eric Stanton has connections all throughout the empire, and is a master at securing land, resources, and labor wherever the Senate deems an additional prison is needed.” 

“So, Stanton Holding Industries is a prison company, then.” Bruce spoke up, no longer caring about Jeremiah’s rule about keeping silent.

For the first time since being escorted by Mallory, Jeremiah looked at Bruce, wide-eyed.

Bruce smirked. _You do not get to tell me when I can and cannot speak._

Rory nodded. “You are quite right! I cannot say I know much more, however.” He scratched along his neck, pondering. “You would have to ask the man himself for more information. I believe the senators in RELAC are quite familiar with Eric. Oswald talks often of he, Ra’s, and Edward meeting Mr. Stanton for dinner on a regular basis.” 

“It seems Mr. Stanton gets some preferential treatment from RELAC members, then,” observed Jeremiah.

“Hah! That is a grand understatement.” Rory paused, turning serious. “Do not misunderstand me - I am part of RELAC, and I hold no ill will towards Eric. He gave me the stone for this building we are in at a steep discount. But as a fellow member of the council, I am here to ensure that public policy does not unfairly punish my company, or cotton production in general. I have talked with the owners of the other companies represented by RELAC, and I have met all but Mr. Stanton. We are all in agreement that there is more to the picture with him than what we are currently aware of.”

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. “It does sound like quite the conundrum. Someone whom you have never met before having such camaraderie with the senators on the council must be a bit puzzling.”

“Indeed!” Rory laughed. “But enough about that. We are here to discuss how we can help supply you with uniforms for our country’s senators.”

Jeremiah smiled. “Great. Let us go over the details Selina sent over, just to ensure we are all on the same page.”

* * *

Bruce pondered the information Rory had told them about Eric Stanton and his company while Jeremiah negotiated the “deal” with Rory.

At last, Jeremiah stood, shaking hands with Rory.

“Thank you, Mr. Laughlin. It has been a pleasure working with you.”

“Likewise, my boy!” Rory bellowed. “I hope this deal will be to Selina’s liking. If you have any questions, please feel free to come by again.”

Jeremiah smiled kindly. “We will.”

Jeremiah turned out of the study, Bruce following close behind, only to nearly run into Mallory.

“Hello!” She squeaked, hands behind her back and eyes wide. “I am here to escort you gentlemen out.”

“_Wonderful_,” said Jeremiah, voice lower than it had been a few moments ago.

Bruce nearly groaned. _This again, Jeremiah?_

As they walked, Bruce contemplated if what he was witnessing was the docile Jeremiah, or the _other_ Jeremiah. 

His immediate assumption had been that it was the other Jeremiah, but Jeremiah’s behavior during the meeting did not seem particularly vengeful or cutting. 

In fact, during the meeting with Rory, Jeremiah had acted quite calm and passive. The only indication that Jeremiah was any different than normal was how completely he had ignored Bruce, save for when he had spoken up.

However, his behavior with Mallory suggested that it was definitely the other Jeremiah who was in control.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut.

_This is all so confounding._

Bruce thought back over the first half of the day, wondering if he had said or done anything that could have spurred the other Jeremiah to action, but came up with nothing.

Things between them had been going so well. 

What could have brought this on?

Bruce followed Jeremiah and Mallory out the door, thankful that soon he could drop the pretense of being an assistant.

As she held the door open for Jeremiah, she smiled kindly at him.

“It was wonderful meeting you.”

Jeremiah wore a pleased grin, looking down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “I agree wholeheartedly, Mrs. North.”

Mallory giggled. “Actually, it would be _Ms._ North.”

Bruce was certain his eyes would roll back into their sockets of their own accord now after strenuous usage today.

“I stand corrected, then, _Ms._ North.” Jeremiah bowed at the waist, taking her hand and kissing the back of it deeply.

Bruce nearly gagged.

Mallory swallowed, looking down to her feet.

“I, um, was wondering, actually...” She trailed off, refusing to look up.

“If, you know, there is possibly a way for us to...I suppose...meet, but just us, for - “

_Nope. Not happening._

“Excuse me, Mr. Wilde,” said Bruce lightly, stepping forward, “but you told me to remind you when we would need to depart for our next meeting.”

The withering look Jeremiah gave him said that he registered Bruce’s clipped tone.

Jeremiah turned back to Mallory, a small smile planted on his face.

“Till next time, my dear.” He bowed low to the ground before pivoting on his heel and brushing past Bruce without so much as a look.

Bruce had to run to catch up with Jeremiah.

For a solid minute, silence rang in the air between them as they walked.

Then, Jeremiah chuckled, causing Bruce to wheel his head around to him.

“You are _such_ a child, Bruce.”

Bruce stepped in Jeremiah’s path, hand planted in the center of his chest.

“Don’t you _dare_ condescend to me, Jeremiah.” Bruce inched closer, face inches away from Jeremiah’s. “I am done being part of your power trip. I refuse to be another pawn in your game.”

Jeremiah giggled. “Oh, _Bruce_, you continue to entertain me with how much you enjoy playing the victim - “

Bruce punched him square in the jaw, knocking Jeremiah back several feet.

“You say your brother was able to outmaneuver you in manipulation.” Bruce tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck as he advanced on Jeremiah. “But after what I saw today, I am uncertain how any man could top that.”

Jeremiah pulled a hand away from his mouth, showing a wide grin, blood splattered on his teeth. “Oh, Bruce,” he tutted, “I just _love_ when you give me _exactly_ what I want.”

_The hell did he mean by that?_

Jeremiah’s eyes were wide, pupils blown out and dilated.

_I do revel in a bit of pain._

Bruce growled, fist connecting with Jeremiah’s temple just as Jeremiah pulled him close, causing them both to tumble to the ground.

Jeremiah’s head hit the ground with a thud, Bruce rolling on top of him with the impact.

Bruce recovered, straddling his stomach.

He closed a hand around Jeremiah’s throat, squeezing tightly.

“You are a perpetual thorn in my side; an egotistical maniac hell-bent on keeping my attention on you no matter the cost.”

“What can I say?” Jeremiah ran a tongue along his bloodied teeth, giggles erupting as he did so. “I want to be the star of the show!” 

_He knows exactly what he’s fucking doing._

Bruce raised a hand to deck him across the face, but before he could lower it, he was knocked off of Jeremiah, and picked up from under his arms.

“Bruce,” said a familiar voice, “stop.”

“Lucius?” Bruce spun around, coming face-to-face with him.

Lucius grabbed Bruce firmly by the shoulders, steering him away from Jeremiah.

“It’s not worth it, Bruce. Whatever you had in mind to do to him, don’t.”

As Lucius propelled Bruce forward, Bruce took one glance back at Jeremiah, who was being hauled up by other guardsmen in a not-so-gentle manner.

“Why not?” Bruce faced forward again, jaw clenched.

Lucius sighed. “In all my time serving the Emperor, I have learned that the only thing people love more than a hero is a martyr. Jeremiah does not deserve martyrdom.”

Bruce swallowed. “I suppose I can see your point.”

Lucius nodded. “Would you like me to eject him from the palace? The offer still stands, Your Majesty.”

Bruce looked off into the distance.

“Let us see how tonight goes. I will alert you immediately if he requires eviction.”

Lucius bowed at the waist. “As you wish, my lord.”

* * *

After arriving back at the villa, Bruce hurried to his room, staying close by the two guardsmen stationed in his room for many hours.

He knew that Jeremiah had been taken by a separate rowboat back to the palace, and had arrived an hour after he did.

All the same, he did not trust Jeremiah to be too happy with him, even when given time and space to cool off.

Once he was certain Jeremiah would be asleep, Bruce tiptoed to the bathing room, eager to decompress after the day’s events.

Instead, when he arrived, he saw Jeremiah was there, alone, knees curled up to his chest in one of the communal pools, sobbing quietly.

When Bruce entered the room, he did not look up, still continuing to cry and sniffle.

A wave of compassion nearly drove Bruce to Jeremiah’s side, but then he reconsidered.

_Is this the other Jeremiah pretending to be sad to get me closer to him?_

To play it safe, while still letting Jeremiah know he was there, Bruce waded into the same communal pool as Jeremiah, but seated himself on the other side of the pool.

Jeremiah still did not acknowledge Bruce as he sobbed, his face red and eyes swollen.

_He must have been here for some time, then._

For several minutes, Bruce was silent, wondering what would be appropriate to say without causing the other Jeremiah to come out.

Then, Jeremiah’s sobs quieted, and he sniffled.

“I-I’m so sorry, Bruce.” Jeremiah’s voice was shaky, trembling. “I-I have n-no idea why h-he did that today.”

_He?_

Oh. The other Jeremiah.

“I c-could not control him. I was perfectly happy today, and had no reason to doubt your feelings for me. Yet, he came out, all the same. I wish…” Jeremiah began weeping into his hands, sobbing hysterically. “I w-wish I knew why it happened today.”

Bruce was still wary of being baited into coming closer, but he could not help but want to be there for his friend.

Bruce swam over to Jeremiah, just barely within arm’s length of him.

“Jeremiah.” Bruce laid a hand gently on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “You know that my feelings for you are true, do you not?”

For the first time, Jeremiah looked up at Bruce, his eyes so swollen Bruce could hardly see his pupils.

Jeremiah nodded.

“It is becoming clear to me that your other self cares not what you think or believe.” Bruce gave him a sad smile. “He wants my constant attention and validation, and no matter what I do or say, it is not enough for him.”

Bruce paused.

“Perhaps…” Bruce sighed. “Perhaps, for your own safety as well as mine, it would be best if you and I stayed just friends until your other self calms down. He seems to be coming out without warning or pretense now.”

Bruce dared to drift a bit closer to Jeremiah. 

“I am fearful of what he might do if we do not give him, and you, physical and emotional space from me.”

Jeremiah’s whole body trembled. “I am more fearful of what he might do if he is denied access to you in any way, whether it be physical or emotional.”

“If I am being truly honest, I am, too.” Bruce swallowed. “But it is clear that physical and emotional validation from me is not enough to push him back, and appears to somehow be emboldening him further.” 

Jeremiah gulped. “You are quite right. I worry for your safety, Bruce. I have no idea how he will react to this, despite my knowing how much you care for me.”

Bruce nodded, planting a small smile on his face. “I know. But I will be alright. The Praetorian Guard will keep watch over me. I have no doubt that he will be killed before he could get to me.”

For the first time since entering the room, Jeremiah’s lips curled up into a smile.

“I did say I would not be able to live with myself if he ever laid harm upon you. Now, I know I will not have to.”

Bruce reluctantly pulled his hand away from Jeremiah. “Thank you for being understanding, Jeremiah. I just hope your other self will be just as accommodating.”

Jeremiah chuckled, smiling kindly at Bruce. “That is all we can hope for at this moment.”

Bruce stepped out of the bath, grabbing the towel he brought with him and throwing it around his waist. 

“I will see you tomorrow, then, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah waved at him. “Tomorrow your wealth redistribution bill goes onto the Senate floor for discussion. It will be a big day for us.”

Bruce smirked. “I feel much better about our chances of getting this passed compared to my first day in the Senate.”

Jeremiah laughed. “I feel the same. Good night, Bruce.”

Bruce waved as he stepped outside the bathing room into the hall.

He looked behind him, making sure Jeremiah was still fully seated in the communal pool.

Then, he broke out into a run, making a beeline to his room.

“Lucius!” He called out.

Lucius ran over to him. “My lord?”

Bruce panted, beckoning Lucius into his room. “I need five additional guardsmen posted at the entrance of my room immediately.”

Lucius bowed low. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He straightened. “However, the guardsmen will need to be pulled from the perimeter of the villa, which would increase the chances of a successful break-in.”

“I am not concerned with enemies from without,” Bruce said.

He swallowed, looking across the hall to Jeremiah’s room.

“My concern is with enemies from within.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This smut at the beginning is a bit, uh...self-indulgent. *points emphatically to the OOC tag, Daddy Kink tag, and switch!Bruce/switch!Miah tags on my fic* DON'T LIKE DON'T READ! Spoilers: it's a DREAM sequence so keep that in mind.
> 
> If you want to skip the smut but get to the "plot"-related part of the dream sequence, find the line that says "Exhausted, Jeremiah collapsed forward onto Bruce, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath." and start there.
> 
> The underage stuff comes into play later this chapter, just a fair warning. It's not graphically talked about but it's mentioned/acknowledged.

_Bruce opened his eyes to find Jeremiah towering over him, leaning in with a crooked smile on his face._

_Bruce stepped back, only for his heel to run into something behind him._

_When Bruce whirled around, he found it was the wall he had run into. _

_Bruce turned back, Jeremiah pressing himself along Bruce’s body, breathing heavily in his ear._

_“Bruce,” Jeremiah moaned, taking Bruce’s ear lobe into his mouth as he ran his hands up and down Bruce’s sides._

_Bruce bit back a groan, tilting his head to allow Jeremiah greater access to his neck._

_Jeremiah chuckled, learning down to press light kisses along Bruce’s jawline. “You’re so good for me, Bruce, aren’t you?”_

_Bruce panted, rubbing himself along Jeremiah’s hip._

_The friction helped, but it wasn’t nearly enough._

_Jeremiah kissed his way down the column of Bruce’s neck, bringing his hands up to where the neckline of Bruce’s tunic met his sternum._

_Then, Jeremiah pulled hard on the fabric, and the tunic was torn in half._

_Jeremiah raked his fingernails along Bruce’s chest, one of them catching a nipple, and Bruce arched his back, overcome with pain and pleasure._

_Jeremiah gasped into Bruce’s skin at this._

_“God, Bruce, you are so good for me.” _

_Jeremiah pulled back hard on Bruce’s hair, and Bruce grit his teeth, screwing his eyes shut._

_“Such a good boy for me, aren’t you, Bruce?”_

_Bruce whined, feeling far too overstimulated to respond. _

_Jeremiah leaned in next to Bruce’s ear, his breath warm and heavy._

_“I’ll take such good care of you. Would you like that?”_

_Bruce nodded fervently, and Jeremiah pulled Bruce toward him by the hips, slamming him against his own arousal._

_Jeremiah used his hands to guide Bruce’s hips against him, using them as leverage to grind himself against Bruce._

_Bruce felt totally helpless and out of control, completely at Jeremiah’s mercy._

_“You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Bruce?” Jeremiah let out a shaky breath. “Daddy will take such good care of you, you know that?”_

_Bruce bit down hard on his bottom lip, muffling the moan that threatened to leave his throat._

_Suddenly, Jeremiah stepped back, leaving Bruce feeling cold. Exposed._

_“Turn around, baby boy.” Jeremiah smirked. “Daddy wants to show you how much he wants you.”_

_Bruce reluctantly turned, facing the wall, before he felt a hand snake around to his neck._

_Another hand wrapped around his waist from behind._

_“That’s it,” said Jeremiah. “You’re so good for me, Bruce.” _

_Bruce heard fabric rustling behind him before his own undergarments were pulled down. _

_Then, a hardness was pressed between his cheeks from behind._

_Jeremiah hissed._

_“Bruce, you feel so good, I - “ A strangled moan, and then Jeremiah began moving, his cock gliding past Bruce’s entrance over and over._

_Jeremiah was so warm, and the pressure against his hole felt so good. _

_Jeremiah stopped abruptly, the hand around Bruce’s neck flexing lightly._

_“Bruce.” Jeremiah panted. “Daddy wants you. Can he have you?”_

_Bruce nodded profusely. “Y-yes, Daddy.”_

_Jeremiah let out a low groan that reverberated through his chest. “God, Bruce. I want you all to myself.” He clutched tightly onto Bruce, pressing Bruce’s back flush against his chest. _

_Jeremiah lowered his lips to Bruce’s ear. “Tell me who you belong to, Bruce.” _

_Bruce moaned loudly. “Y-you, Daddy.”_

_Jeremiah hummed. “Good boy. Daddy’s going to make you feel so good, Bruce.”_

_Moments later, they were on the floor, Bruce on his back with his legs up while Jeremiah was nestled between them. Both of them were now nude._

_Jeremiah lined himself up with Bruce’s entrance._

_“Baby boy, this is going to hurt a lot. But soon it will feel really good, okay?”_

_Bruce nodded slowly. _

_Without warning, Jeremiah pushed inside Bruce to the hilt, and Bruce yelped, his back bowing up off the ground._

_It was a decidedly strange sensation - it burned and felt deeply uncomfortable._

_But then, Jeremiah moved, and the head of his cock brushed against some place in Bruce that had him gasping in pleasure._

_Jeremiah grinned. “That’s it, Bruce.”_

_Jeremiah picked up the pace, his thrusts coming quicker as Bruce felt his orgasm nearing. _

_His cock was weeping precum, and as Jeremiah’s rhythm became increasingly frantic Bruce took himself in hand._

_Then, Jeremiah abruptly slowed down his pacing to a crawl._

_“Bruce.” Jeremiah’s voice became gentle. He placed a hand on Bruce’s cheek. “I love you.”_

_Bruce’s eyes widened. _

_“I-I love you too, Miah.”_

_Jeremiah’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Do you mean that?”_

_Bruce gave him a soft smile. “Yes. Always will, too.”_

_Jeremiah swallowed, a tear dripping down his cheek. “Even if we never see each other again?”_

_Bruce furrowed his brows in confusion. “Why do you ask that?”_

_Jeremiah looked away briefly. “I don’t know.” He locked eyes with Bruce. “I just have a feeling.”_

_Bruce nodded. “I will love you always, Miah. Whether or not you are by my side, I will think of you always.”_

_Jeremiah sniffled, a shy smile breaking upon his face. “That’s good, Bruce. I feel the same.”_

_Then, Jeremiah sped up his thrusts once more, each one more forceful than the last, wringing out moans from Bruce with each push._

_Jeremiah came first, his cock pulsing inside Bruce as warmth flooded into Bruce’s hole, and knowing that he was Jeremiah’s, only Jeremiah’s, and would only ever be his, pushed Bruce over the edge, and he was coming and milking Jeremiah of his seed._

_Exhausted, Jeremiah collapsed forward onto Bruce, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath._

_“Bruce.” Jeremiah panted, slowly pulling himself out of Bruce and sitting upright. “I wanted to tell you something about my brother that I’ve never told you before.”_

_Bruce cocked his head, sitting up on his elbows._

_As Jeremiah opened his mouth, a crunching, squelching sound erupted from behind Jeremiah._

_Bruce looked down to Jeremiah’s chest, and saw a sword protruding out from it, the point of it having fully punctured through._

_Jeremiah, seeing Bruce’s look, glanced down at his chest._

_A panicked look rose on his face, but before he could do anything, the sword was pulled out from behind him, and blood began gushing out from the gaping hole in Jeremiah’s chest._

_Jeremiah desperately tried to press his hands to the hole to stop the bleeding, but it was far too deep a wound._

_Jeremiah’s face and extremities were turning white._

_“Miah!” Bruce screamed, and then the sword swung out once more, decapitating Jeremiah with one clean cut._

_As his head rolled onto the floor, a foot reached out of the shadows, kicking Jeremiah off of Bruce._

_Bruce stumbled backward, trying to get away, but the sword was thrown toward him into the ground, mere inches from his temple._

_A figure stepped out from the shadows, the outline looking vaguely familiar. _

_Bruce’s breath caught._

_It was Jeremiah._

_Wait, no - it was someone that looked just like Jeremiah, but not quite._

_He wore the same tunic, had the same fiery red hair and pallid complexion; but his hair stood straight up, pushed up from his face._

_All over his face and body were scars, white and small, speckled all along his arms, legs, and face. _

_This Jeremiah - if he could even call him that - gave him a long look, flicking his eyes up and down Bruce’s figure._

_Bruce felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with his state of undress._

_Then, he gave Bruce a chilling grin._

* * *

Bruce jolted awake, feeling cold sweat drip down his neck and back. 

He laid his head in his hands, thinking about the dream he’d just had. 

Once Bruce was able to regulate his breathing, he stood up, looking around the corner of the entrance to his room to the common area.

Jeremiah was there, eating bread and grapes in relative silence.

Bruce sighed with relief. At least the Jeremiah from his dream wasn’t real.

* * *

As Bruce and Jeremiah boarded the rowboat to the Senate, Jeremiah broke the silence between them.

“I think the plan is to meet with Eric Stanton as soon as possible, preferably today, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bruce looked over. Jeremiah wore a sheepish grin on his face.

No sign of the other Jeremiah, or the Jeremiah from the dream.

_Good._

Bruce nodded. “I would agree with that. When we get to the Senate, let us have Selina schedule the meeting at Mr. Stanton’s earliest convenience.”

“Understood.”

A few minutes of silence followed.

Then, Jeremiah placed a tentative hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce flinched away instantly, alarmed.

Jeremiah drew back. “I-I’m sorry, Your Highness. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Jeremiah cleared his throat. “I was going to say, I noticed you had additional guardsmen posted at your room last night. I think that was a good call.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “I am relieved that you are not offended.” 

Jeremiah smiled. “My feelings aren’t hurt at all. I would rather you be safe.”

Bruce shuffled his feet. “You know, I have been thinking about the last few weeks, and how much you have helped me since my father and Alfred passed on to the afterlife.”

“No need to thank me, Bruce,” said Jeremiah, shaking his head. “I’m your friend. I would do it all again in an instant.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “It must have been strange to comfort me after the death of my father, considering that you had lost your mother as well.”

Jeremiah looked down. “It was, indeed.”

_My mother…my mother suffered a horrible death._

“How did your mother die, if I may be so bold to ask? I believe you said in your first letter she was struck in the chest by a sword.”

Jeremiah nodded. “That is right. She bled out almost entirely from that wound alone.”

“There was another wound, then?”

Jeremiah stilled. “Yes. She was also decapitated.”

_Decapitated._

_A clean cut._

Bruce looked down, trying to quell the feeling of nausea that had risen up into his throat.

His father…

His dream…

Bruce looked back up at Jeremiah. “Jeremiah, how did your brother die?”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Lucius interjected, “but Senator Selina Kyle is awaiting us ahead on the shore. I thought such conversation might not wish to be overheard by her.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Lucius. You are quite right.” He turned back to Jeremiah. “We will talk later.”

Jeremiah nodded slowly as they approached the shore, Selina waving politely.

“Your Majesty, I have been awaiting eagerly to hear how yesterday went with Mr. Laughlin.” Selina smiled as Bruce and Jeremiah jumped down from the boat onto the rocky sand.

“It went quite well,” Bruce said, conveniently leaving out how Jeremiah’s other self had nearly sabotaged the operation. “We’re honing in on Eric Stanton after some remarks Mr. Laughlin made about him. He seems to have a special relationship with Oswald, Ra’s, and Edward compared to the other company founders on RELAC.”

Selina nodded. “I can’t say I have heard much about him, but I’m happy to set up a meeting with him.” She pursed her lips. “Though, it might be difficult to secure a meeting with him today. It’s election day, and I have heard he’s running for senatorial office, so he might be preoccupied.”

Bruce glanced over at Jeremiah. “Odd. Rory did not mention anything about him running for a Senate seat.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “He didn’t. But considering he knew very little about Eric to begin with, it’s hardly surprising.”

“I myself only heard about it in passing through Oswald.” Selina cleared her throat. “No matter. I will do my best to get a meeting with him. Does it have to be today, though?”

“Please do what you can,” said Jeremiah. “We would really prefer today, if at all possible.”

Selina nodded in acknowledgment. “I suppose I can try. Today might be a better day for him, anyway. Tomorrow is the swearing in of the new senators, so if he wins, he might be fully booked tomorrow.”

Bruce smiled. “Thank you, Selina. You have done so much for us and for this investigation.”

“Of course.” She bowed. “Although I cannot say I feel I have contributed much to figuring out who killed your father. So far, it just seems we are going down the rabbit hole of RELAC without having a tangible connection to what happened with your father.”

Bruce looked down. “I know.”

Jeremiah stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I have hope that Mr. Stanton will know something. He owns a prison real estate company; it surely follows there are some unsavory characters he knows who in turn might have some involvement.”

Bruce looked up again, giving a hesitant nod.

Jeremiah smiled, pulling his hand back to his side. “Let us know when you have scheduled the meeting, Selina. We appreciate you putting yourself on the line for this.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me how much I’m going out of my way for the both of you.”

Bruce laughed as they headed up the steps into the Senate.

* * *

“Welcome, one and all!” Oswald’s voice boomed through the forum. “Today, we will be discussing the bill put forward by our great Emperor on raising taxes to benefit our nation’s poor.” 

Bruce nearly rolled his eyes. The summary didn’t quite capture his intent, but he supposed it would do.

“There should be a copy of the bill and its implementation details in front of each of you.” Oswald held up a scroll. “With that, we will open up the floor for questions and discussion.”

For a brief moment, the sounds of scrolls opening and being shuffled filled the air.

Then, Selina stood.

“Permission to speak, Mr. Speaker?”

Oswald raised an eyebrow. “Granted. The Speaker recognizes Senator Selina Kyle.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” She squared her shoulders. “I would like to voice my support of this bill, as we are in need of legislation that is specific on how to elevate our fellow citizens out of poverty. With this bill, a committee would be created in the Senate that will determine how best to appropriate the additional funds that would be collected from the bill’s implementation. We could channel the funds into any number of programs and initiatives, from opening up shelters for our homeless to giving stipends to those in need. It would be up to the discretion of the committee, which I think is a worthwhile compromise.”

She smiled at Bruce, and Bruce gave her a grateful nod.

“If I may, I do have a question, Mr. Speaker.” Ra’s raised his hand as he stood.

“The Speaker recognizes Senator Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. While I do understand the intent of this bill, does Rome not already have companies who perform charity work? Surely it is not within the purview of the government to make such existing initiatives redundant.”

“I’d like to respond, Mr. Speaker.” Bruce stood.

“Of course, Your Highness.” Oswald grinned madly.

Bruce peered curiously at him before looking back at Ra’s.

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I acknowledge that some organizations already have wings of their operations dedicated to helping out those in need. However, it is unfair for only some of these organizations to dedicate resources to such an important and noble effort, while other companies opt out of it. Surely it would make the playing field more fair to all private companies knowing that this additional taxation would be going toward an effort that everyone should already have a vested interest in, as it were.”

“Permission to speak, Mr. Speaker?” Edward raised his hand.

“The Speaker recognizes Senator Edward Nygma.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Edward rose, a smirk playing along his lips. “Is it not already charitable enough that Rome’s various corporations offer jobs for our citizens? These companies provide a livelihood and meaning to many hundreds of thousands of our people. Is the onus not on those less fortunate to ensure they take advantage of this by securing a job, thus eliminating the need for such taxation as this bill outlines?”

“You forget that it is not just the jobless who are in poverty in our country,” Bruce said, not bothering to ask for permission to speak. “Most already do have jobs, but simply do not make enough to afford housing, or food, or adequate clothing.”

“I’d like to say something, if I may.” Ivy made to stand.

“The Speaker recognizes Senator Ivy Pepper.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” She pursed her lips. “I understand that we have a moral imperative to help our nation’s less fortunate. However, is this really the best way to go about it? Think about it: We are increasing taxes on our noblesmen, who have rightly earned their gold and keep through blood, sweat, and tears, to fund what are essentially handouts for others. Is it not any different than stealing? Stealing from our nation’s financially-secure noblesmen is still theft.”

Bruce shook his head furiously. “It’s not stealing if it is something we _all_ will be contributing gold toward. If it were stealing, I would certainly not be willing to contribute as much as I have agreed to.” He smirked.

“Easy for you to say.” Ivy put a hand on her hip. “This bill is your invention. But no matter - just because something might be sanctioned by our government - or by our Emperor - does not mean it is infallible or logical.”

She sat down, a triumphant grin on her face.

Bruce glanced down at Jeremiah, who was seated next to him. 

_Walked right into that one, didn’t I?_

Jeremiah gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Permission to speak, Mr. Speaker,” said Edward.

“Of course,” Oswald nodded. “The Speaker recognizes Senator Edward Nygma.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Edward stood, stroking his chin in thought. “I cannot help but wonder how this will impact future initiatives by our country that require securing large amounts of gold. If we increase taxes, specifically on our noblesmen, this could disincentivize them from investing in new, start-up small businesses and merchants that are in need of financial backers. This would deprive our country of a market of diverse suppliers, which would only hurt the people of Rome.”

Bruce looked down, pondering how to respond.

_Damn it all to hell, I don’t have an answer to that._

“I’d like to respond, Mr. Speaker.” Jeremiah stood.

“Of course!” Oswald’s tone became syrupy-sweet. 

Bruce shivered at the shift in tone. He still had no idea why Oswald was so…_familiar_ with Jeremiah. 

“The Speaker recognizes Mr. Jeremiah Valeska.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Jeremiah cleared his throat. “I don’t necessarily believe that increasing taxes will result in less financial capital for our smaller merchants. In fact, giving our nation’s less fortunate a boost means people are more likely to spend money and take risks with the money they have, knowing that they have more leeway than before if ventures do not pan out. I think we will see a rise in the number of new businesses available to the citizens of Rome to choose from for their goods and services, and we would not have any problem with a less-diverse market of suppliers like you were alluding to.”

Bruce couldn’t help but level a grateful smile Jeremiah’s way as he took his seat once more. 

Jeremiah winked at him, and Bruce chuckled.

After a few beats of silence, Oswald spoke once more.

“Does anyone have any additional thoughts or questions?”

Silence rang out in the forum. 

Bruce could not tell if the silence boded well for the bill’s passage.

“If not,” Oswald continued, “we will now take a vote by a show of hands.”

Bruce took his seat, fiddling with his hands to keep them busy.

“Those who are for this bill, please raise your hands now.”

Selina and many other senators raised their hands.

“Keep your hands raised, please, so that I may record the number.”

As Oswald counted, Bruce took a brief survey of how much of the room had yet to raise their hands.

It was a close call. Bruce found it difficult to estimate at a glance if they exceeded a majority.

“Alright, you may lower your hands. Those who are against this bill, please raise your hands now.”

When the room lit up with hands, Bruce’s face dropped.

Ra’s, Edward, and Ivy all raised their hands, as did a fair number of the senators in front of he and Jeremiah. 

Selina, for her part, was greatly outnumbered and was the only one in her section not raising her hand.

Bruce pursed his lips as Oswald counted.

“Thank you - you may lower your hands now.” Oswald held up the scroll he had been using to keep count.

Bruce knew, before he even spoke, what the results were.

“We received 130 votes for passage of this bill, and 170 against. The bill is struck down.” Oswald banged the gavel in front of him. “The proceedings for today’s session are now concluded. We will begin again tomorrow with the swearing in of our new senators pending the elections being held today across our great republic.”

Bruce stood abruptly and headed to the exit, not bothering to wait for Jeremiah. 

He raced down the Senate steps, wanting nothing more than to be on the rowboat back to the villa at this very moment.

Behind him, he heard his guardsmen running to keep up, but no immediate sign that Jeremiah was nearby.

Finally, at the bottom of the steps, Bruce heard panting from behind.

“Your Majesty,” Jeremiah breathed, and Bruce turned around.

Jeremiah was crouched over, his hands on his knees, chest heaving with exertion.

“I apologize for taking so long to catch up with you - Selina told me she was able to secure a meeting with Mr. Stanton for us to attend in about an hour and a half’s time.”

Bruce said nothing, pivoting on his heel and continuing on to the shore of the Tiber River, Jeremiah falling in line behind him.

* * *

Throughout the journey home, Jeremiah tried to make conversation with Bruce, but Bruce remained stone-faced and unmoving.

He felt numb to all that was happening around and within him.

_I wish my father were here now with me._

* * *

Bruce flopped down onto a couch in the common area, having yet to register anything that Jeremiah had said on the way there.

Finally, Jeremiah laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“My lord, I do not wish to startle you,” he prefaced, “but we do have our meeting with Eric in an hour. We should don our disguises and prepare to leave.”

Bruce shook his head.

Jeremiah cocked his head, confused. 

Bruce glanced up at him. “We’re not going.”

“Excuse me?” Jeremiah’s brow furrowed.

“You heard me. We’re not going to the meeting.”

Jeremiah took a seat next to Bruce. “Alright, and why is that?”

Bruce stared down at the floor. “Why bother? The whole Senate is against me. RELAC is clearly against me, based on how they voted. We’ve been outclassed and outsmarted. I don’t see how this meeting with Eric Stanton will change anything. If he truly has Oswald, Ra’s, and Edward in his pocket, he won’t talk.”

Jeremiah sighed heavily. “Maybe so, but it’s still worth going, since Selina went to all the trouble of setting up the meeting.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at him. “I said we are not going. That is the end of that.” He crossed his arms, facing away from Jeremiah.

Bruce heard a crack from behind him, which if he had to guess was the sound of Jeremiah’s jaw clicking.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I was not aware that _you_ were the type to give up as soon as things didn’t go your way.”

Bruce spun back around to face him. “Excuse me? Would you like to run that by me again? Maybe this time with an ounce of _respect_ for your Emperor.”

Jeremiah leaned into his space, eyes boring deep into Bruce’s. “And here I thought you were so ambitious and stubborn. I truly oversold you to myself, didn’t I?”

“Tell yourself whatever you must to live with yourself at night,” Bruce grit out.

Jeremiah’s eyes flicked between Bruce’s, then back down to his lips before tracing up again.

“You know something, Bruce? I think you’re scared.”

Bruce huffed. “Says the man who called himself cowardly.”

“Well, that was before I truly got to know _you_,” Jeremiah sneered. “All you’ve ever done in the short time I’ve known you is run away at the first sign of trouble. It is _painfully_ clear to me that you’re not suited for the turbulence of ruling over an empire as nascent and chaotic as that of Rome.” He sat back. “Maybe that’s the _real_ reason your father left you out of politics. He must’ve known how _pathetically_ you would handle all of this.”

Bruce leveled a glare at him. “You are not qualified to speak of my father. As if you knew him better than his own _son_.”

“Oh, believe me, _Bruce_,” Jeremiah tutted, “I don’t have to know him well to know how _disappointed_ he'd feel in his own _son_ for giving up on finding his killer.”

Jeremiah rose, striding toward the exit. “You know what? I am going to go do what your father would want you to do, but that you’re too scared to do. I’m going to the meeting with Eric, with or without you. Have fun sulking here at home feeling sorry for yourself.”

Bruce ground his teeth together as Jeremiah left.

_Good riddance._

* * *

Bruce had been laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling for about an hour when he heard slow footsteps from the entryway to the villa.

Probably Jeremiah, then.

Then, a thud followed by sniffling and heavy breathing jarred Bruce into sitting upright. 

Jeremiah was on his knees, his whole body trembling, face devoid of color as he stared at his hands.

His chest was heaving, as if he had run to the villa.

His heavy breathing was the only sound heard in the silence of the corridor.

“Miah?” Bruce stood, racing over to Jeremiah’s side.

Jeremiah didn’t acknowledge him.

“I…I…” 

Jeremiah’s voice was shaky, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

“My brother…Jerome…”

Bruce tilted his head in confusion.

“Miah, what are you talking about?”

_Why would he be talking about his ex and his brother simultaneously?_

Jeremiah panted through his mouth. “I…he…Ecco…”

Bruce shook him by the shoulders. “Miah, you need to focus and tell me what’s going on. I cannot read your mind.”

Jeremiah swallowed, his hands shaking violently.

“I…I saw Ecco at Mr. Stanton’s complex…I-I haven’t seen her since…”

Bruce was becoming increasingly frustrated. “Since when? And who is Ecco?”

Jeremiah breathed out slowly, finally looking up at Bruce. “Ecco was a childhood friend of my brother’s. Wherever Jerome went, she went.”

_Jerome?_

“Wait,” Bruce paused. “Is she a friend of your brother’s, or of Jerome’s? I’m confused.”

Jeremiah looked down, carding a hand through his own hair violently.

After a few moments of no answer, Bruce reiterated.

“Jerome’s your ex, right? The abusive one?”

Jeremiah held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth.

“J-Jerome…is my brother.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, even more perplexed.

“Well, then who is your ex? You said…”

_Wait._

_Oh, no._

_No._

Jeremiah looked up, seeing Bruce’s faraway look.

“Jerome and I…we…”

Bruce swallowed.

“Jerome is your ex…_and_ your brother.”

Silence rang out in the air between them.

Bruce thought about his conversation with Jeremiah about Jerome.

_How did you come to know him?_

_Through family._

The villa suddenly felt too crowded, too cramped.

Jeremiah nodded slowly.

White noise filled Bruce’s ears.

“God, Jeremiah, that is…_really_ fucked up.”

Like a dam breaking, Jeremiah started sputtering words. “I-I know, and we were so, so young when it started, and - “

_Ten years ago. That means…_

“You were _twelve_?” 

Jeremiah gulped. “A few years younger than that, yes.”

_We were both quite young when it happened. _

Bruce sat back on his heels, aghast.

“I-I’m so sorry for not telling you, Bruce, I was so worried about what you would say, that’s why I hid this from you - “

“He _abused_ you, Miah. You said yourself that you didn’t feel heard with him.”

Jeremiah nodded furiously, face scrunched up in anguish. “I know, I know! But I loved him, and he loved me, he did so much for me, he - “

Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “What exactly did he ever do for _you_? Hm? Tell me that.”

At this, Jeremiah started hyperventilating.

“I-I don’t think you want to know, Bruce, I-I’d rather not - “

“No. I _want_ to know, Miah. I…I have been wanting to know why he haunts your dreams.”

Bruce looked deeply into Jeremiah’s eyes, steeling himself.

He squeezed Jeremiah’s shoulder gently.

Jeremiah’s breathing began to even out, and he took a deep breath.

“I-I think I told you my mother whipped me, much more so than my brother.”

Bruce nodded, leaning forward slightly.

“She was scared of him,” Jeremiah continued, “but she wasn’t scared of me. Maybe because she knew I wouldn’t put up a fight.”

Jeremiah looked down, hands beginning to tremble anew.

“Jerome always noticed, though. He hated what she did to me. He knew how defenseless I was against her, that I was too scared to fight her off. So he…he…”

Bruce ran a hand down Jeremiah’s back, hoping to soothe him.

Jeremiah sighed heavily. “One night, while she was sleeping, he grabbed his sword, which he had used for sparring with me, and killed her in her own bed.”

Bruce’s hand froze, remembering Alfred’s words about Jeremiah.

_A savant and prodigy who through a happy coincidence had landed on his doorstep due to a horrific tragedy that struck his family._

A horrific tragedy…

“He stabbed her in the chest and decapitated her.” It wasn’t a question.

Jeremiah swallowed.

“Yes,” he breathed.

_My brother was nothing but darkness incarnate when we were growing up. There was never hope for him to outgrow it._

_But then, sometimes he could be so loving, and would do things for me that he would never do for anyone else. To excess, I would argue._

_At least my brother did not get whipped nearly as much as I did. Though I’m not certain that ended up mattering in the end._

_My mother…my mother suffered a horrible death._

Bruce’s stomach churned. 

“Well…” Bruce paused. “Thank the gods Jerome is dead.”

_Wait…_

_No. No, no, no._

Bruce remembered his exchange with Jeremiah about Jerome.

_I suppose all I can say is that I am glad you are not still with him, and I hope you never see him again._

_Me too. I feel better now that I am far away from him and am with you._

_Perhaps he haunts you from the afterlife?_

_If only that were true._

At this, Jeremiah began rocking back and forth again, head spasming in his hands.

“You said your family had died, right, Miah?”

“I…he…I-I-I don’t know.” Jeremiah’s body was shaking violently.

Bruce was perplexed. “How do you _not_ know?”

“I…I couldn’t find him afterward. So I ran. But I knew it was him that killed her. He…he left a note on her body.”

At Bruce’s quizzical look, Jeremiah relented. 

“He had written, _Love you, baby bro._”

Bruce looked down, trying to process everything he had just been told, but feeling overwhelmed all the same.

“So, you ran away, because you were scared.”

“Yes. W-Well, no. I was not scared of him killing me. He could never do that.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “How could you _possibly_ know that? He killed his own mother. _Your_ mother.”

“He…he loves me too much. Was always overprotective of me, really. Besides, there are much worse things than death that he could inflict.”

Bruce cocked his head. “What could possibly be worse than death?”

Jeremiah met Bruce’s eyes. “Having to witness losing everything and everyone you love, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.” He looked down. “That’s Jerome’s modus operandi. He gets you where it hurts.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “You keep talking about him in the present tense.”

Jeremiah’s eyes shimmered with fresh tears, his lip trembling. “Seeing Ecco made me reconsider the possibility that he is alive somewhere.”

“Why?” 

“She was glued to him, would never leave his side for anything. It actually annoyed him to no end, but he’d find uses for her on occasion.”

“Did you actually talk to her?”

“No,” said Jeremiah. “I just saw her as I entered the complex. She winked at me, and I panicked and left.”

Bruce almost laughed, but the gravity of the situation was stifling.

“So, you’re saying he’s alive.”

“He…maybe?” Jeremiah shook his head. “I can’t be certain.”

“He didn’t die, as far as you know, before you left home.”

Jeremiah sighed heavily, meeting Bruce’s eyes. “That’s correct.”

Bruce sat back on his haunches, blowing hair between his lips. “This is…a lot, Jeremiah.”

Bruce got to his feet, contemplating for a moment.

_Wait._

The conversation with Alfred after his father’s death came back to him.

_How was it cut off?_

_We’re not sure, but we suppose a sword would be the most effective weapon._

Decapitation.

_No. No, no, no, no._

Anger took hold of him, and he pushed down on Jeremiah’s shoulder with his foot until Jeremiah’s back was against the ground.

“Let me get this straight. Your_ brother_ is a _murderer_.”

Jeremiah stared straight up at him, wide-eyed, nodding furiously. 

Bruce put more weight onto his foot.

“He _decapitated_ your mother.”

Jeremiah nodded, a strangled sound of assent coming from his lips.

“Do you have reason to believe he’s looking for you?”

Jeremiah looked away, biting down on his lip.

Bruce wedged his heel further into Jeremiah’s shoulder, and he cried out.

“_Answer_ me, Jeremiah,” Bruce grit out.

“M-Maybe?”

Bruce growled. “He _killed_ for you - there’s no reason to think he isn’t out looking for you.” 

His eyes bored into Jeremiah’s.

_I am, in fact, a cowardly man._

Bruce hauled Jeremiah up by the neckline of his tunic, slamming him against the wall.

“My _father_,” he roared, “gave you full and _complete_ access to the palace, when all the while you were running away from your _murderer_ of a brother. Don’t you think he would have liked to have known that _before_ allowing you to stay there? _Before_ you became my _tutor_?”

Tears fell freely from Jeremiah’s eyes.

It made Bruce _sick_.

Bruce reared his hand back, slapping Jeremiah hard across the face.

“_That’s_ for not telling me about all this sooner. You deserve much, much worse.” 

He lowered his voice, leaning in close to Jeremiah.

“I’ll only say this _once_,” he spat out. “If I find out that your brother had anything _whatsoever_ to do with my father’s murder, I will kill him. And then, I will kill _you_.” He jabbed a finger into Jeremiah’s chest for emphasis.

Bruce stepped back, letting go of Jeremiah, who crumpled like a leaf upon impact with the ground. “You two deserve each other.”

Bruce turned on his heel. “Lucius?”

Lucius raced forward from his place on the perimeter of the room, bowing low. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I’m taking you up on your offer to evict Jeremiah from the villa. He’s not welcome here any longer.” 

Lucius nodded. “As you wish, my lord.” He snapped his fingers, and three guardsmen came forward.

The four guardsmen hoisted Jeremiah off the ground and dragged him out of the villa, Jeremiah sobbing all the while.

Bruce didn’t spare a second look in his direction.

Bruce adjusted his toga. Tomorrow was a big day, and he was to swear in the newly-elected senators based on today’s election results. 

He’d require rest, and lots of it.

Bruce headed to the communal bathing room, grateful that for the first time in a long time, he knew for certain he would not be intruded upon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates the relationship and character tags* HOLY SHIT THE CHAPTER I'VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE SINCE I STARTED THE FIC
> 
> Next two chapters will be WILD folks holy shit I'm excited.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Bruce woke up feeling refreshed.

Living alone definitely had its perks.

Since it was inauguration day for the newly-elected senators, he decided to don a more formal overcoat and toga for the occasion.

When he left the villa, a sunny, warm day greeted him.

Bruce breathed in deeply, relishing the summer breeze.

He smiled to himself. Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

Bruce arrived with the Praetorian Guard on the steps of the Senate, but as he began to ascend, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said Lucius, “but I’ve received some information that I need to follow up on, for your safety. I need to step away to investigate briefly, but it shouldn’t take too long. You will still have the rest of the guardsmen for your security, but I wanted to let you know in case you wondered about my whereabouts.”

Bruce nodded. “Noted. Thank you, Lucius.”

Lucius turned and left, leaving Bruce and a dozen guardsmen in tow to scale the steps of the Senate.

* * *

Bruce caught the end of Oswald’s introductory speech as he walked in.

“And now, let us stand to welcome our new class of senators!”

Oswald began reading off the names one-by-one of those newly-elected, and Bruce stood, clapping as each one came out from behind a curtain that had been set up at the head of the forum.

Oswald looked down at his scroll for a brief moment, then smiled wickedly, tossing the scroll away onto the floor.

“And last, but certainly not least - Eric Stanton!” 

_Hm_, Bruce thought. He was surprised to hear Eric had won his seat of office, considering he’d only heard he was running as of yesterday.

Bruce applauded anyway, but froze mid-clap when the man stepped out from behind the curtain.

His build, his hair, and his pallid complexion looked all too familiar to Bruce.

_Jeremiah?_

Then, Eric - if he could even be called that - looked up to where Bruce was standing, and gave him a malicious grin.

Bruce’s blood ran cold.

_It can’t be._

As Bruce looked closer, he noticed that small, white scars lined nearly every inch of skin he could see, even along Eric’s face and neck.

Some of the scars were mottled, giving him a grotesque look.

Bruce shivered.

He might have looked like Jeremiah on first glance, but Bruce knew with absolute certainty Jeremiah had no recognizable scars on his body.

His hair was also styled differently - pushed back up away from his face, spiked upward.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Eric.

If this wasn’t Jeremiah, who else could it be? They were nearly identical.

_Wait._

_No. No, no, no._

Bruce had heard tales of siblings being identical twins. He didn’t know of any personally, but sometimes in parades he had seen dancing girls who were twins. They were popular with the crowds.

Bruce heaved a sigh. 

Yet again, it seemed he had been deliberately left out of the full truth by Jeremiah.

Though, Bruce hazarded a guess as to why he hadn’t been told.

It was bad enough that Jeremiah had been intimate with his brother in the past.

How much more humiliating, then, for it to be his identical twin?

_This is Jerome, then._

As Jerome walked across the clearing, his eyes never left Bruce’s. 

In looks, Jerome was extremely similar to Jeremiah.

But in almost everything else, he was _nothing_ like Jeremiah.

Jerome didn’t merely walk - he _sauntered_. He didn’t just smile - he grinned _madly_, as if he were in on an inside joke known only to him.

Oswald couldn’t stop cackling, and it was rattling Bruce’s nerves.

The other new senators took their seats, except for Jerome, who seemed content to stand right in the middle of the forum, in the center of the clearing, hands on his hips, a dastardly smirk planted on his face as he surveyed the room.

By now, hushed whispers filled the room as senators pointed and gestured at Jerome.

Bruce guessed they thought he was Jeremiah. 

As Bruce looked on, there were some senators he was surprised had no reaction.

Ra’s and Edward seemed more amused than anything.

Then, Bruce remembered their meeting with Rory Laughlin.

_Oswald talks often of he, Ra’s, and Edward meeting Mr. Stanton for dinner on a regular basis._

When Bruce’s eyes landed on Oswald, who was trying desperately to suppress his giggles, it dawned on him that Oswald, Ra’s, and Edward, as members of RELAC, knew of Eric’s identity as Jerome from the moment Bruce and Jeremiah had stepped into the Senate for the first time.

It explained the hushed whispers in the room, the senators pointing at Jeremiah when they had first entered, and Oswald’s unsettling familiarity with Jeremiah.

Bruce recalled the first conversation Oswald and Jeremiah had shared.

_And this must be the infamous Jeremiah Valeska! Pleasure to meet you at last._

_Pleased to meet you, as well, though I am perplexed as to how you know of me from a glance._

_Well, I - as well as many of my peers - have heard word of your tutelage with Cicero. He often spoke of his star pupil fondly, someone of unusual red hair and pallid complexion._

_Glad to hear my name precedes me, and with honor at that._

_Your name is quite revered here, my good sir._

Bruce’s eyes grew wide, and his eyes darted wildly around the room.

_Where’s Jeremiah?_

If Jerome had known since the first Senate session that Jeremiah was an adviser to Bruce, then…

Jeremiah wasn’t safe.

Bruce looked behind him.

Lucius still wasn’t back.

_What a time to be away!_

Bruce caught Selina’s bewildered look.

Bruce could hardly blame her.

“Mr. Speaker,” drawled Jerome, “I’d like to make a motion.” He turned fully to Oswald, the smirk never leaving his face. “If I may.”

“Of course!” Oswald gave a light bow before taking his seat.

Bruce scrunched up his nose. 

_Is this even standard protocol for conducting Senate proceedings?_

“Wait!” Selina called out, standing as she did so. “Who even _are_ you? Your name is Eric Stanton, but you look _exactly_ like Jeremiah Valeska, adviser to the Emperor.”

Sounds of assent were heard in the hall.

Jerome narrowed her eyes at her for a moment before bursting into maniacal laughter, doubling over as his chest heaved.

Oswald cleared his throat before nodding to Selina. “The Speaker has yet to grant you permission to speak, Senator Kyle.”

Selina huffed, rolling her eyes. 

Bruce glanced back over at Jerome, whose guffaws had thankfully begun to die down. 

“Do I have your permission to speak, Mr. Speaker?” Selina grit out.

“Permission granted. Though,” Oswald smirked, “please keep your remarks brief, as we have much to discuss during today’s session.”

Selina’s eye twitched.

“Ah, ah!” Jerome raised a finger to Selina as he tutted. “Forgive me for the interruption, Senator, but I’d like to respond to your question, so as to, shall we say, _expedite_ the rest of today’s proceedings.” He strutted around the clearing, waving his hands emphatically as he talked. 

Bruce’s jaw was taut with tension.

Selina was glaring daggers at Jerome. 

“Jeremiah Valeska and I are _quite_ alike, are we not?” 

Jerome met Bruce’s eyes, sending him a wicked smirk.

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Not least of all, in the looks department!” Jerome giggled, trying - and failing - to mask it behind his hand as he looked out to the sea of senators once more. “I found out, quite recently, that the _lovely_ Jeremiah and I were separated at birth.”

_The lovely Jeremiah._

Bruce shivered at the endearment.

Jerome sent a bright smile Bruce’s way before continuing.

“Jeremiah was raised with the Valeska family, whereas _yours truly_ was raised with the Stanton family. Hence,” he smirked, “the difference in names.”

_Bull shit._

“You’re lying!” Bruce stood up, not bothering to ask for permission to speak. “Jeremiah was raised with you until 10 years ago - he told me so!”

“Order, order!” Oswald banged his gavel. “No speaking out of turn!”

Jerome cackled shrilly. “It’s fine, Oz, it’s fine,” he said between laughs, waving a hand dismissively toward Oswald.

_Oz?_

Bruce was becoming quite unnerved, both with Jerome’s familiarity with Oswald and with Jerome’s instinct to laugh at nearly everything.

Not to mention, Jerome’s way of speaking and behavior were decidedly unusual, as if he was pulled in from some other time in history and plopped unceremoniously into this era.

A man, both out of place among the crowd of senators, and out of his time.

“Ever thought you knew for sure what was happening, but then _POOF_!” Jerome’s hands mimicked an explosion. “It hits you that you had _no_ idea who or what you were truly dealing with?”

_You have no idea who you’re dealing with, my dear._

Bruce froze, remembering his conversation with Jeremiah.

_Then do you know what he meant when he said “You have no idea who you’re dealing with”? When I punched you before? I have been puzzled by what your other self would mean by this._

_I am not sure. But the first thing I thought of when you repeated that was of my brother. He used to say that all the time growing up._

Bruce ground his teeth together.

This was _absolutely_ Jerome.

“He’s lying!” Bruce pointed at Jerome. “This man is not Eric Stanton. He’s Jerome Valeska, and he - “

Suddenly, Bruce was grabbed from behind, his feet leaving the floor as he was hoisted up.

Held firmly by the chest and waist, Bruce flailed, trying to look behind him to see who was assaulting him.

He couldn’t get a good look at the assailant’s face, but he recognized the armor and build of the man.

It was the intruder who had killed Alfred.

Footsteps resounded behind him, but when Bruce tried to look, he was clutched tighter by the man, his rib cage threatening to buckle under the pressure.

A large hand engulfed Bruce’s mouth, and Bruce struggled mightily within the man’s tight grasp.

“Say another word, and I get the pleasure of knocking you out for good,” the man breathed into his ear.

By now, the senators were standing, pointing at Bruce’s rough treatment by the intruder and looking wildly about, trying to find the source of the resounding footsteps.

Looking forward, Bruce’s eyes landed on the balconies behind the senators across the room from him.

Dozens of hulking specimens of men - if he could even call them that, their proportions were so Herculean - marched forward from the balconies, most of them splattered with blood.

Bruce recognized none of them, and they were not in Praetorian armor.

Screams erupted from the sea of senators. Some fainted in their seats.

Bruce craned his neck slightly to look behind the intruders at the balconies, and saw piles of limp bodies in their wake.

_The Praetorian Guard._

“Mmph-mmph!” Bruce tried calling out Lucius’s name, but failed, his words muffled by the assailant’s hand over his mouth.

Bruce’s eyes scanned across the room, and saw dozens more of the assailants folding in from the upper-level balconies encircling the entirety of the forum.

“Order!” Oswald screeched out, to no avail.

Then, Jerome snapped his fingers, and the assailants - nearly a hundred of them, in unison - stood at attention, their hands raised to their heads in salute.

The silence echoing out through the forum in response was deafening.

“Wonderful!” Jerome clapped his hands excitedly, grinning madly as he looked up at the senators. “Now _that_, my friends, is how you command a room!”

A brief silence followed.

“You can’t do this!” 

Bruce whirled his head around to Selina, who had stood up from her seat once more and began walking down toward the clearing.

“This isn’t right! This is a coup, and this is _not_ how this great republic operates! Coming into the Senate with such brute force goes against the very ideals of - “

Without warning, Selina was similarly grabbed from behind by one of Jerome’s men, a hand placed over her mouth despite her flailing about.

The man pulled her up the steps of the forum, her feet dragging on the floor as she struggled against her assailant, until she was out of Bruce’s sight, her muffled cries becoming increasingly distant.

Bruce felt tears sting the corners of his eyes.

_This can’t be happening._

“You see?” Jerome giggled. “Speak out of turn against me, and you’ll be waltzed outta here just like our dear friend Selina was. And _nobody_ wants that, right?” 

Jerome sighed happily, his eyes flicking over to Oswald. “Oz, would you do the honors?”

Bruce’s mind overflowed with the onslaught of questions he had.

_How dare Jerome come in here! How did he do this?_

_Where did he get these men?_

_How did he get Oswald and RELAC on his side?_

_Where’s Jeremiah?_

Bruce flinched. That was by far the most painful question.

“Gladly,” said Oswald. “The Speaker opens up the floor for new motions.”

“I’d like to make a motion, if I may,” said Jerome, narrowing his eyes at Bruce. “Before we are _so_ unceremoniously interrupted again.” He leveled a wicked grin Bruce’s way.

“You have the floor, Senator Eric Stanton.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek, nearly rolling his eyes at the name Jerome had taken on.

“Excellent! I move to recuse our Emperor from the investigation into our late Emperor’s death and place him in jail to await trial for his abuse of power.”

Gasps echoed across the forum.

“You might be asking yourselves _why_ I make this motion.” A sly smile spread across Jerome’s face. “It is because a member of our dear Emperor’s cabinet visited my company, Stanton Holding Industries, last night, in an effort to frame _me_ as the perpetrator of his father’s murder.”

Jerome cleared his throat, chest puffing out dramatically as he looked out at the senators. “And I have proof of this, too.”

Jerome snapped his fingers again, and behind the curtain from where the newly-elected senators had entered emerged two of Jerome’s lackeys pulling on a third person.

When the light hit them, Bruce immediately recognized who this was.

_Jeremiah._

Jeremiah’s arms were bound to his sides by rope, and he was gagged, a long piece of fabric wound tightly over his mouth.

“Ah, yes!” Jerome exclaimed, his hands reaching out toward Jeremiah. “Our _beloved_ adviser to the Emperor, and my long-lost twin brother, Jeremiah Valeska.” 

Bruce felt a tear fall down his cheek.

Jeremiah looked absolutely _broken_. His eyes were downcast, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as he drew nearer to Jerome, nudged on by Jerome’s lackeys.

“As _traumatizing_ as it is to be framed for such a horrendous crime, I can’t help but thank our dear Emperor, for without him, I would never have been reunited with my brother. My first, and _only_, love.” 

Once Jeremiah was within arm’s reach of him, Jerome cupped Jeremiah’s cheek, placing a gentle kiss just underneath Jeremiah’s eye. 

Bruce trembled.

Jeremiah had been right all along.

It was all true. _All_ of it. 

“Permission to speak, Mr. Speaker?” Ra’s raised his hand.

“Granted,” nodded Oswald. “The Speaker recognizes Senator Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker.” Ra’s grinned. “I second the motion to recuse the Emperor from this investigation, considering the impropriety of the orchestration he undertook to frame Senator Stanton. We cannot trust him to be involved with running the investigation, and in fact, this leads me to believe he could possibly be involved with the late Emperor’s death. Why else would he go out of his way to send one of his advisers to Senator Stanton’s estate otherwise to interrogate him, after telling us the investigation had been called off?”

_Shit._

Oswald nodded. “Motion has been made and seconded. Now, we will take a verbal vote on the motion.”

_Is verbal voting on such an important motion really appropriate, let alone allowed?_

Bruce flailed wildly in his assailant’s arms, to no avail.

“Before we vote,” Jerome called out, gesturing to his men lining the upper floor of the forum in salute, “let’s remind ourselves of the consequences of voting _incorrectly_.”

Jerome pointed to an upper level of the forum, right across from Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes widened.

One of Jerome’s men was holding Selina captive in his arms, one hand gripped tightly around her throat.

Selina’s eyes were bulging as she choked, desperately gasping for breath but being vehemently denied it.

Then, the assailant released her throat, before reaching his arm back and punching her right in the temple.

She collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

Bruce screamed, his outburst muffled by his assailant’s hand over his mouth.

Jerome looked on, a pleased expression crossing his features.

“Fantastic!” He clapped excitedly, eyes darting wildly across the room. “Now that we’ve been reminded, let’s put it to a vote. Oz, take it away!”

Oswald cleared his throat. “All those in favor of the motion to recuse the Emperor from the investigation into his father’s death, placing him in prison to await his trial for abuse of power, say aye.”

A brief pause.

Then, the entire room erupted with affirmative votes, rising to a clamor.

“All those opposed, say nay.”

Silence echoed throughout the forum.

“Silence is golden, then!” Jerome exclaimed, jumping up and down with glee.

Bruce looked at Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was still roughly in the same position as before, hunched over and despondent, eyes downcast.

Bruce desperately longed to look Jeremiah in the eyes, but flailing and screaming into his assailant’s hand had been unsuccessful thus far at catching his attention.

“The motion is passed, then, by unanimous verbal vote,” said Oswald, banging his gavel once. “Now, the next matter becomes who will take the position of Emperor while Bruce awaits trial for his crimes.”

Jerome began pacing the floor, eyes flicking across the room, wearing a look of haughty disdain.

“If I may, Oz?”

Oswald giggled. “You may speak freely, Senator Stanton.”

“If no one else has a better choice, I’d like to nominate myself for the position of Emperor, seeing that Bruce has no surviving relatives or heirs.”

Jerome’s lips curled into a devilish grin as his eyes met Bruce’s.

_No. No, no no._

Jeremiah’s intuition when first finding out about RELAC had been correct all along.

_I can’t definitively rule that out, but based on their hostility toward you on your first day in the Senate, I think they are trying to take advantage of your lack of political experience to discredit you and elect one of their own as Emperor._

Bruce’s brow furrowed. 

_Why would RELAC hedge their bets on Jerome, of all people?_

“You might be asking yourselves what my qualifications are that would lead me to being a nominee for the highest position in the land.” Jerome smirked. “Well, as you all may or may not know, I own Stanton Holding Industries. As founder and president of the company, I have learned how to navigate the complexities of an interconnected and ever-changing social landscape, weigh options coming in from all directions, and decide on the best course of action for my stakeholders. Is that not, essentially, the role that one plays as Emperor of Rome?”

“I have also, for many years, been a member of RELAC, and have kept current with the political landscape of this great republic.” He glanced at Oswald, who grinned madly back at him.

“However, you might be wondering how the citizens of Rome might react to me becoming Emperor. In fairness, I have thought for a long time on this, myself. But I feel satisfied with how they will view me.”

“In fact, I was not always a noblesman. I was born into poverty, one of many millions of plebeians in the Roman Republic.” Jerome laid his eyes on Bruce.

Bruce clicked his jaw, remembering his exchange with Jeremiah.

_Even so, I think I would rather be poor and uphold my virtues than have all the riches in the world and be cruel._

_Clearly you have never been poor, then._

_Oh, and you have?_

_Yes. Was born into it, in fact._

“But I stand before you today as a shining example to the people of Rome of what one can become if they work hard enough at their craft!” Jerome chuckled. “The people in our great country do not _need_ financial assistance from our government, just like how _I_ didn’t need it to get to where I am today. They need positive role models, such as myself, at the helm, serving as inspiration for them to increase their productivity and make this country great again!”

Jerome strolled over to Oswald’s table, knocking on it with his knuckles. “Oz, would ya do the honors?” 

Bruce couldn’t see Jerome’s face, but he heard his smirk through his words.

“Of course,” said Oswald. “A motion has been put on the floor to elect Senator Eric Stanton to the position of Emperor pending the outcome of Bruce’s trial.”

“Seconded,” Ivy called out, hand raised as she stood.

“The motion has been seconded by Senator Ivy Pepper. We will now put the motion to a verbal vote.”

Shouts erupted from the forum as a few senators made their dissent at the proceedings known before being dragged away by some of Jerome’s men.

Jerome clapped happily as Oswald began the voting phase.

“All those in favor, say aye.”

The senators, in unison, responded accordingly.

“All those opposed, say nay.”

Silence rang out in the hall.

“The motion has been passed to elect Senator Eric Stanton to the position of Emperor.”

Jerome jumped with glee, cackling as he did so. “What a wonderful day this is! Being reunited with my brother, being elected Senator, and now holding the position of Emperor? Why, I can’t say I imagined things going _this_ well!” Jerome laughed maniacally as he made a show of wiping tears away from his eyes.

“Now, as Emperor, I command the new Royal Guard to take away _all_ those who stood in my way of getting what I _most_ wanted.” 

Jerome leveled a glare at Bruce before planting a wide smile on his face.

Bruce felt himself being dragged backward by his assailant, tears streaming down his cheeks all the while.

Bruce thought back to his conversation with Jeremiah about Jerome.

_What could possibly be worse than death?_

_Having to witness losing everything and everyone you love, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it. That’s Jerome’s modus operandi. He gets you where it hurts._

Jeremiah was right. Jerome knew how to inflict true pain.

Bruce was suddenly greeted with the face of his assailant.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the man’s arm rear back.

Then, all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wait on this chapter! I think I was subconsciously really worried about the execution of this chapter which put me in a bit of a writer's block.
> 
> You probably have a LOT of questions! Next chapter, I endeavor to answer all of them. 
> 
> Remember when I said the last chapter was the one I've been waiting this whole fic to write? Actually, that's the next chapter, which earns the Rape/Non-Con tag and will conclude the fourth act.
> 
> (Don't worry - there's a fifth act!)
> 
> Love you all! <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks: The rape/non-con chapter.
> 
> Copious amounts of twinleska ahead. I took care to ensure that Jerome and Jeremiah's backstory, as well as Jerome's motives, were explained separately from the rape/non-con in this chapter. 
> 
> No, twinleska isn't endgame. It just explains a lot of why Jerome did what he did. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

A door slamming in the distance woke Bruce from his slumber.

He opened his eyes, and winced hard from the pain at the back of his head.

It felt as though someone had struck him with…

_Oh._

He remembered now.

The man who had killed Alfred had been the one to knock him out. 

Bruce gingerly touched the back of his head, and immediately experienced toe-curling pain the likes of which he’d never felt before.

A voice floated in from somewhere far away from and above Bruce.

“Sounds like someone’s having a good time down here, hm?”

Bruce, feeling overwhelmed from the pain, was unable to muster a response.

The padding of steps greeted his ears, and Bruce willed himself to adjust to the persistent ache throbbing at the back of his head to focus on his surroundings.

His first observation was that he was enshrouded in pitch-black darkness. No matter how much he blinked and squeezed his eyes open and shut, he couldn’t see a single thing.

His next observation was that he was lying on his back on what felt like cold ground. However, no ambient outdoor noises could be heard, so Bruce assumed he was indoors on the floor.

“Ecco,” the voice said, “would you kindly tell Theo we’ll need his help with bringing Miah down?”

A feminine voice chirped back in response. “Yes, Mr. J!” 

A scurrying of footsteps, and then silence rang out once more.

Bruce strained to hear anything that could tell him if both had left the room.

The first voice had sounded awfully familiar…

“I know you can hear me, Bruce.”

Suddenly, a flicker of light illuminated the space he was in, and Bruce gasped aloud.

He turned his head to be greeted with the sight of three stone walls, effectively boxing him in.

As he turned his head the other way - toward the light - his eyes were briefly assaulted with the intensity of its brightness.

When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw iron bars separating him from the source of light - a lantern - and from Jerome.

Jerome was seated on the ground, legs crossed, the lantern glowing next to him.

Jerome’s brows were furrowed in concentration, but when Bruce met eyes with his, his expression shifted to a devilish smirk.

“Hi there, Brucie. How ya holdin’ up there?”

Jerome giggled behind his hand, and Bruce couldn’t help but wish he had stayed unconscious for a little while longer.

“Rhetorical question! I can tell you’re miserable, and that makes me positively _ecstatic._” Jerome clapped excitedly, bouncing a bit where he sat.

The pain blooming at the base of his skull was making it difficult for Bruce to focus his eyes on Jerome.

His vision swam at the edges.

“How about some small talk, eh?” Jerome scooted closer, moving the lantern with him.

Then, he positioned the lantern underneath his chin, illuminating his face fully.

“Wanna know how I got these scars, kid?” Jerome’s smile widened to a wicked grin.

Slowly, Bruce moved his arms to push himself up off the ground, eyes not leaving Jerome’s.

Jerome’s face was grotesque, the contrast between light and dark from the lantern further amplifying Jerome’s haunted look.

What Bruce noticed now, being within a few feet of Jerome for the first time, was that his face was significantly more scarred than the rest of his body.

It almost looked as if Jerome had cut the skin around the perimeter of his face using some sort of tool, before stopping at the last moment and sewing it back on.

Bruce shivered. He’d rather not think about that right now.

Bruce’s voice was hoarse, coming out as a croak. “Where am I?” 

Jerome set the lantern down and laid back on his hands, his arms supporting him as he arched up into his maniacal laughter. 

“Oh, Bruce, _really_? You’re smarter than this.” Jerome sighed, sitting up straight once more before leaning in close to the iron bars, his voice low. “You’re in _my_ world now.”

“So, one of your prisons, then.” It wasn’t a question.

“Ding-ding-ding! Correct!” Jerome’s hands flew up in the air, a lazy smile on his face, as if he had been the one to answer correctly.

A door slammed off in the distance, and Jerome’s head wheeled around.

“Theo?”

A deep voice answered back.

“It’s me, Mr. J, delivering what you requested.” Footsteps shuffled closer.

“Ah, fantastic! Thank you _ever_ so much, Theo.” Jerome turned back to Bruce, a dastardly smirk lighting up his face. “I have a wonderful surprise, just for you, Bruce! It’s to _die_ for.”

As Jerome cackled shrilly, Bruce squinted, trying to see behind Jerome.

The footsteps padded closer, and then without warning, something large was dropped next to Jerome.

Bruce’s chest seized up.

_Jeremiah._

Jeremiah was, once again, bound and gagged. This time, the rope was wound tight around his legs as well.

_Guess that explains why he had to be delivered by Theo._

Jerome shot up suddenly, getting right in Theo’s face.

“You absolute _oaf!_ That’s my brother that you just dropped!” Jerome seethed.

Theo’s eyes widened, and he backed away slightly, putting his hands up in apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. J, I-I didn’t - “

In a flash, Jerome unsheathed the sword Theo had at his hip, and swung it at Theo.

A gushing sound erupted, followed by a loud thump, and Bruce looked down, not wanting to see what had just transpired.

Finally, after a few moments, he looked up, and gasped audibly.

Jerome was eerily still, sword still grasped between his hands, head bent toward the floor.

Theo, however, had fallen backward, and was not moving.

His head was severed from his body, and had rolled down to Jerome’s feet.

_Decapitated._

_A clean cut._

Bruce’s heart was pounding. 

“See, now, _this_ is why you gotta handle the merchandise with care!” Jerome exclaimed, throwing the sword away from him and kicking the head towards Theo’s body. 

“Ecco!” Jerome called out. “Have the boys clean up this mess!”

“Sure thing, boss!” Ecco’s voice floated in from somewhere above them.

It occurred to Bruce that they were possibly in a basement somewhere, with Ecco waiting just above for instructions.

Jeremiah groaned, stirring a bit from his place on the ground.

Bruce moved closer to Jeremiah.

“Miah?”

Jeremiah blinked his eyes open, his eyes landing on Bruce.

Bruce was momentarily taken aback at how wonderful it was to meet eyes with Jeremiah again.

_Feels like coming home._

Then, Jeremiah started panicking, writhing on the floor and whipping his head around erratically.

Bruce’s eyes grew wide.

_He wants to be freed._

A boot was shoved roughly underneath Jeremiah’s chin, and Jeremiah stilled.

“Three thousand, seven hundred and one.”

_What?_

Bruce looked up to see Jerome standing just above Jeremiah, holding his right foot to Jeremiah’s neck.

“That’s how long you made me wait for you.” 

Jerome cleared his throat, kneeling down beside Jeremiah.

He was brandishing a bronze knife.

“3,701 days without you. How ‘bout that, huh?” 

Jerome sighed, his expression neutral as he began cutting the rope binding Jeremiah.

“It’s funny. The first few days, I was expecting you to wimp out and come back. You never did have great survival skills, didja?” 

Jerome huffed out a laugh before his expression turned severe again.

“But then, after a week, I went searching for you. I knocked on every door, scaled every building, and memorized every inch of the hills by our villa trying to find you.” 

Bruce heard footsteps padding behind Jerome.

He couldn’t see, but he assumed it was Jerome’s men moving Theo’s body.

Jerome continued sawing at the rope, lips pressed tightly together.

Bruce was unsure if it was from concentration or annoyance.

“I wandered for a _month_,” Jerome grit out, sawing through three strands of rope all at once. “And I never found you.” 

Jerome sat back, looking on as Jeremiah rubbed at his arms where the rope had been.

“So, I did this,” Jerome said, gesturing to his face. “Thought that there was no point wearing a pretty face if you weren’t around to appreciate it anymore, y’know?” 

Bruce scrutinized Jerome’s face further.

The skin around his eyes looked…raw. Burnt.

_Shit_. He really _had_ tried to saw his own face off.

“So, kid,” Jerome turned back to Bruce, “_that’s_ how I got these scars.” Jerome pointed at his jawline, then down to his neck. “One for every day my little brother was away from me.”

Jerome lifted his arms, and Bruce’s jaw dropped.

Dozens of small, white scars lined every inch of Jerome’s forearms and biceps. 

It reminded Bruce of when his father had taken him to the Tiber River to go fishing when he was little. A colony of guppies had swum by in the water beneath them, but from high up, they looked like millions of small lines darting through the water.

Jerome’s neck was similarly marked up, and while Bruce could not see his legs, he figured that if Jerome truly had over three thousand scars on his body, there was probably very little unblemished skin remaining.

Jerome dropped his arms, only to brandish the knife once more and hold the tip of it against Bruce’s lips.

“How about we give _you_ some scars, huh?” Jerome’s lips curled up into a smile. “Fair trade, I would think.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Jerome. “I was unaware we would be trading anything.”

Jerome laughed cruelly, slowly dipping the tip of the knife down into Bruce’s bottom lip. “I lost my brother for ten years. You had a whole month to have him to yourself, more than I’d had _ever_.” 

Jerome’s eye twitched as he surveyed Bruce’s face. “Our dreadful _whore_ of a mother made sure we were hardly ever alone together. Though,” Jerome turned back to Jeremiah, “we still managed to sneak off sometimes, didn’t we, Miah?” 

Jerome patted Jeremiah’s cheek, and Jeremiah flinched.

“But,” Jerome sighed heavily, turning back to Bruce, “I had been greatly looking forward to when Miah and I would have all the time in the world to be together. Just us, against the world. And _you_,” he sneered, “took that from me.”

“No,” said Bruce. “_You_ took that away by killing your mother and scaring him away.”

Jerome leveled a glare at him before looking back at Jeremiah, chuckling to himself.

“Perhaps.” Jerome shrugged, the side of his lip quirking upward. “But…” Jerome turned back to Bruce and leaned into his space, holding the knife firmly against the corner of his mouth. “At _every_ twist and turn, you delayed our reunion. And for that…” Jeremiah leaned back slightly, his eyes shining brightly as he laughed. “You _will_ pay.”

“You killed all my guardsmen in the Praetorian Guard,” Bruce deadpanned. “You’re even the Emperor now. Is that not already a fair trade?”

Jerome pulled back his knife as he doubled over with laughter, head nearly in his lap, chest heaving. 

“Oh, Bruce, you kill me,” Jerome gasped, out of breath. “I suppose all of that comes close to making things fair.” Jerome squared his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Close doesn’t _quite_ cut it, though. Not for _me_. Not after what you’ve done.” 

“Why go to all this trouble if all you wanted was to hurt _me_?”

Jerome sat up on his knees, a contemplative look crossing his features.

“Well, ya see, I really _did_ want to kill you. Still do, actually. And can’t wait to,” he said giddily, before his expression turned pensive again. “But I believe this requires, ah, a bit of context!”

Jerome hopped up onto his feet, beginning to pace. 

“Miah will vouch for me when I say that I have what one might call a _flair_ for the dramatic. Hence, these scars.” Jerome gestured to his face. “But, see, I _also_ have vision, and ambition, and brains. And I always knew that I’d wanted out of our life of squalor and poverty. I wanted to live in splendor and abundance. And, most importantly,” Jerome’s voice lowered, bending down to Bruce’s level, “I wanted to give my brother a _better_ life. The better life I’d always thought we deserved after having to endure being abused by our so-called _mother_.” 

Jerome resumed his pacing.

“You didn’t grow up like we did. You don’t know what it’s like to steal loaves of bread from the market just to survive. To have to choose between feeding yourself or the person you love.” 

Jerome looked at Jeremiah, who - for the first time - locked eyes with Jerome. 

“It’s a horrible life. And for the longest time, I’d wanted out.” Jerome turned back to Bruce. “After living for a month without my brother, I realized that the show _must_ go on! I could still give myself a good life, even if Miah couldn’t join me. But, and here’s the kicker: I had hope that one day, I _would_ find him, and I would be wealthy enough to shower him with all the food and drink and gifts and luxury that I could afford, and more. And I had _all_ the right qualities to do just that.”

Jerome continued his pacing as he talked.

“So, I made some friends. Friends that would listen to me and do whatever I told them to without question. Ecco was the first, of course. Miah and I grew up with her. Then, I befriended people who would be able to, uh, get what I needed by any means necessary.” Jerome twirled in place. “The Royal Guard might be the name I gave them at the Senate’s proceedings, but privately I like to call them my _maniacs_. When ya end up in the slammer for repeated offenses of theft and pickpocketing, you tend to grow fond of your fellow inmates. So I asked ‘em to join me. And boy, have they been a _big_ help to me!”

Jerome knelt down next to Jeremiah, wielding his knife again. “When we broke out of that joint - what was the name of it? Arkham? Somethin’ like that - I decided to go into, uh, real estate.” Jerome sawed through the fabric holding Jeremiah’s gag in place. “_Prison_ real estate, that is. Miah here can speak for my networking skills, which got me all the way to the top of the food chain.” Jerome chuckled. “Oh wait - he can’t! At least, not yet.”

Jerome removed the fabric keeping the cloth in Jeremiah’s mouth, and Jeremiah grabbed at the cloth, pulling it out of his mouth and gasping for breath.

“Don’t get me wrong - I had my fair share of deals that went south. But, funny enough, if you bring some of your prison buddies with you to the negotiation proceedings, things tend to go your way, more often than not!” Jerome cackled, standing up to resume his pacing. 

“Soon enough, the profitability of my enterprise was recognized. Oz reached out to me, asking if I’d be interested in having my company be represented in a new legislative council. When he first came to visit me, I gave him quite a spook between my henchmen and my looks! But he liked how I conducted business, and thought I might be a good ally to have on the council. So I said yes.”

Bruce tried to get Jeremiah to meet his eyes, but Jeremiah wouldn’t look up.

Jerome shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about politics. Not really, no. All I cared about was making sure I could provide for myself, as well as for Miah, if he ever turned up again. But Oz presented me with a unique opportunity to influence public policy over my own company and industry! I could drive out my competitors; I could engage in price gouging; anything that could stand to benefit me, I now had a direct path to manifesting by joining RELAC.”

“Oz had always told me I had a charm and charisma well-suited to politics, and that he’d be happy to support a campaign for me to become a senator - or more - if I so wished. For years, I turned him down, content to puppeteer from a distance, using RELAC as a vehicle to make sure that noblesmen like myself were not overly taxed or penalized in any way, shape, or form.” 

Jerome stopped pacing, looking down at Bruce with a smug grin. “Oh, by the way! Sorry about that wealth redistribution bill. I helped kill that, just so you know. No way am I signing up to be taxed so heavily when I’d worked my ass off to get to where I am right now! Anything that stood in the way of me securing wealth for my brother and I, I made sure it would die. Preferably before reaching the Senate floor, but if not then killing it in session.”

Bruce glared daggers at him, which seemed to only spur Jerome on as he continued to pace.

“But anyway, back to where _you_ come in, Brucie,” Jerome cooed. “Ecco’s friend was a student under Proximo. You might remember him as the tutor you fired before Jeremiah came along.” 

_Oh, no._

Bruce sat back, aghast. 

“She kindly told Ecco, who then told me, that Proximo was being replaced.” Jerome knelt down beside Jeremiah, cupping his cheek and rubbing a thumb under his eye. “My next logical question was who? And thankfully for me, Proximo knew he was being replaced by my _lovely_ younger brother, Jeremiah Valeska. A star pupil of Cicero’s who’d even opened his own small teaching school. How neat is that?”

Despite Jerome’s taunting words, Jerome’s face was fond, open, as his thumb grazed Jeremiah’s cheekbone.

To Bruce’s frustration, Jeremiah still didn’t look up.

“I was elated. I wanted Miah _immediately_.” Jerome’s jaw grew taut, turning back to Bruce. “But things got complicated when the old geezer decided to give him a _room_ in the damn palace. Now, it wouldn’t be impossible to capture him and get him out of there, y’know? But it would get hairy, that’s for sure.”

Bruce squinted, trying to process everything Jerome was saying despite there being many words he didn’t understand.

“Figured it wouldn’t be worth it to lose all of my men trying to break him outta there. Then I’d have nobody left to defend us!” Jerome chuckled. “So I started thinking about how I could get him back without losing all the resources and manpower I had at my disposal. And then Oz’s words came back to me, and I realized that I wouldn’t have to worry about breaking him out of the palace if the palace was mine to begin with!”

“With the Roman Empire at my feet, I could retain all the power and wealth I wanted, for as long as I wanted, and give my brother everything our _whore_ of a mother couldn’t bother to give us. We would never have to worry about our next meal again, and we could live comfortably forever. Just he and I, against the world.”

Bruce remembered Selina’s words about RELAC and the connection to his father’s murder.

_I’m still not convinced that someone on the council - whether company or senator - would orchestrate such an elaborate plan without a more compelling reason for killing the Emperor, and gambling on his heir to be inept enough to merely submit to a new Emperor being placed on the throne._

Bruce sighed heavily. 

Selina’s intuition had been spot-on. It hadn’t been about being Emperor to begin with.

It had always been about making a point. About getting _Jeremiah_ back.

Bruce looked over at Jeremiah, who still was staring off into the distance rather than meeting his eyes.

“So,” Jerome continued, “Oz, Ra’s, Ed, and I all came together to discuss our plan to get me in power. It would be far easier to take power if one or both members of the royal family were killed. Realistically, we’d probably only have time to kill one before being discovered. And I knew that son of a bitch who took Jeremiah away from me - who plucked him out of my grasp so readily - would be the one I’d kill first. And I _insisted_ that I be there personally to ensure Thomas died.”

Bruce clenched his teeth, hands balled into fists.

“So you _did_ kill him.”

Jerome giggled behind his hand, looking briefly over to Jeremiah before meeting Bruce’s eyes again. “Yes. And it was _glorious_! Remember that maneuver I pulled a few minutes ago with Theo? Pretty much how that went down with your dad, kid.” 

A lump threatened to fill up Bruce’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

Instead, Bruce grabbed one of the iron bars separating him from Jerome and shook on it as hard as he could.

“I promised Jeremiah I would kill you both if you were involved in killing my father. I intend to make good on that promise,” Bruce grit out.

Jerome tipped backward, laughing maniacally while prone.

“Oh, man, would I pay to see that!” Jerome sat up, a smirk creeping up onto his lips. “Sadly for you, you won’t live long enough to even get the chance.”

“Jeremiah ran back to you, then, after he saw Ecco,” Bruce said.

“Hah! Not quite, though I wish he had.” Jerome cracked his neck. “I simply had him followed back to your villa. Which, by the way, fantastic job on relocating after Theo obliterated, uh, what was your manservant’s name again? Alfred?”

Bruce glowered at him.

“Well, anyway, not important! I had agonized _endlessly_ over where you could be. Truly the stars aligned so that I could win my senatorial election _and_ find out my brother’s hiding place all in the same day!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Jerome, remembering vividly how Alfred had been killed.

“I am curious how you were able to sneak up on the Praetorian Guard today with the forces you had and overwhelm them so easily.”

“Aha! Great question, kid.” Jerome scooted closer to Bruce, once more brandishing his knife. “It’s wild how many prison inmates are housed in each prison I built and managed. I could cherry pick the strongest in each, and employ them as members of the Royal Guard. Having 20 prisons across all of Rome doesn’t hurt, either.”

Bruce bit down on his lip, contemplating everything he’d just heard.

“See, Rome doesn’t need heroes. They need someone who will do whatever it takes.” Jerome laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Sorry to say, you don’t got what it takes to _lead_, kid. To make change happen.”

Jerome pulled his hand away before abruptly pulling Bruce by the collar of his tunic, slamming him head-first into the iron bars caging him in.

Bruce cried out, his vision starting to swim again from the impact to his forehead.

“You have _no_ idea what I’ve been through the last 10 years,” Jerome growled, taking both hands and gripping Bruce’s neck firmly.

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

“I was waiting for him to come home,” Jerome seethed through clenched teeth, his eyes shining brightly. “We’re bound together, he and I.”

Jerome swallowed, and for the first time, Bruce saw his eyes gleam with something other than malice.

_Was he actually…tearing up?_

“It’s the one thing I knew was certain, the one thing I knew was true.”

Jerome’s jaw became taut.

“And then he just…_abandoned_ me. Do you know how it _feels_,” Jerome grit out, tightening his hands around Bruce’s throat, “to have the one, the _only_ thing you love, ripped away from you?”

Bruce was gasping for air, the edges of his vision becoming black.

Jerome raised his chin, glowering down at Bruce.

“I thought I could show you exactly how it felt by killing your father; by killing Alfred; by taking the throne; by taking away your freedom. But y’know, that still doesn’t _quite_ do it for me. Maybe I can show ya how it felt, up close and personal. Feels like _this_.”

The pressure around Bruce’s neck increased tenfold, and Bruce choked, gagging as he tried in vain to breathe.

_Well, this is how it ends, I suppose._

Bruce thought idly about the afterlife. Would it be peaceful? Would he see his father? His mother?

Bruce’s lips quirked up in relief. Finally, he could join his parents and be freed from this mortal coil that had brought him nothing but pain and sorrow as of late.

Suddenly, the hands around his neck fell away, and Bruce fell backward, trying desperately to catch his breath.

When he sat forward again, Jerome was convulsing on the ground, while Jeremiah was sitting up now for the first time, balanced on his knees.

His arm was fully extended, fist clenched, in Jerome’s direction.

Jerome held his hands up to the side of his head, writhing about in pain.

Bruce’s eyes widened. 

Jeremiah stood, striding over to where Jerome was violently thrashing about.

He placed one foot on Jerome’s neck, and pushed down.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch him,” Jeremiah seethed through clenched teeth. 

Jerome gasped for air, and tried to push Jeremiah’s foot away from his throat.

_No._

“Miah, no!” Bruce cried out.

This wasn’t the way he wanted Jerome to die. 

He wanted Jerome dead by his own hand.

Jeremiah looked up at Bruce, and then immediately shrieked, face contorted as if in pain.

Bruce looked down and saw that Jerome had elbowed him on the top of his foot.

Jeremiah hopped back, bringing his foot up to examine it, and Jerome took advantage by kicking him in the shin.

Jeremiah fell, face-first, yelping as he collided with the floor.

“Oh, this is _truly_ precious!” Jerome exclaimed, giggling as he dusted himself off and rose to his full height. “You really _do_ love him, don’t ya, Miah? How _quaint_.” 

Jerome spit in Jeremiah’s direction before striding over to Bruce, getting down onto his knees again.

Bruce tried backing away, but Jerome was quick to grab a hold of Bruce’s ankle, pulling his leg through the gap in the iron bars until Bruce’s balls were smashed _hard_ against the bar.

Bruce cried out, his vision whiting out briefly.

“Now, where were we?” Jerome twirled the knife in his hand idly as he paused. “Oh, yes! I was about to show you firsthand how it feels to _lose_ a part of you. Hm,” Jerome pondered, “maybe slicing off each of your fingers would be a good start!”

Jerome’s twisted grin made Bruce’s stomach turn.

Between the ache at the back of his head, the bruising around his throat, and the pain shooting through his nether regions, Bruce was certain he would pass out from the physical torment.

“J?” Jeremiah’s voice floated in, uncertain, hesitant.

Jerome growled, gripping Bruce’s hand tight and lining the knife up with the first knuckle on Bruce’s index finger.

“What is it, Miah?” Jerome snapped back impatiently. “I’m a bit _busy_, if you can’t tell.”

“I missed you, J.” 

Jeremiah’s voice sounded desperate. Lost.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce spotted him crawling closer to where he and Jerome were.

Jerome loosened his grip on Bruce momentarily, sighing heavily. “And I you, Miah. And I _promise_ you, as soon as I’m done here, we can spend _all_ the time in the world together.” Jerome narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “Just us.”

Jeremiah’s voice was pleading, insistent. “But I _need_ you, J. Right now.” 

Bruce quirked a brow up in confusion.

_What’s Miah playing at?_

Jeremiah placed a hand on Jerome’s shoulder, and Jerome’s eyes widened. 

Jerome turned to Jeremiah, freeing Bruce’s hand so that he could bring his hand up to cup Jeremiah’s cheek. 

Then, he reared his hand back and slapped Jeremiah _hard_ across the face.

Jeremiah caught himself with one arm, but before he could fully recover, Jerome grabbed a fistful of Jeremiah’s hair, pulling it back.

“Don’t you _ever_ run away from me again,” Jerome snarled, leaning into Jeremiah’s space, noses nearly touching. “Got that?”

Jeremiah nodded profusely, voice shaking. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Hm.” Jerome’s eyes lingered on Jeremiah’s lips.

He brought a thumb to Jeremiah’s lips, and Jeremiah stilled.

Then, Jeremiah readily, greedily, accepted it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he sucked on it eagerly.

“_Fuck_, Miah.” Jerome pulled his thumb away.

Then, he crushed his lips to Jeremiah’s.

Jeremiah moaned, and Bruce’s stomach dropped.

It hit Bruce that he’d heard that same moan before while kissing Jeremiah. And now, it was being freely given away to his twin brother.

Bruce was torn between watching them kiss, or crawling into the corner of his holding cell to avoid seeing whatever would come next.

Jerome appeared to break the kiss, but then dug his teeth into Jeremiah’s bottom lip, tugging hard on it before breaking his hold. 

Jeremiah cried out; Bruce winced, touching his lips idly, feeling a twinge of sympathetic pain.

When Jeremiah pressed his tongue against where Jerome had bitten him on the lips, Bruce saw smears of red bleeding through to his tongue.

“Oh, come _on_!” Jerome jeered at him. “Don’t be like that. You know you love it. You _live_ for it.”

Jerome lowered his head to Jeremiah’s neck, and while Bruce couldn’t be sure what he was doing, the sucking and popping sounds told him what was truly transpiring.

Then, Jeremiah let out a high-pitched long moan, and Jerome pulled away, a satisfied smirk lining his face.

Without warning, Jerome grabbed a fistful of Jeremiah’s hair and slammed his head face-down into the floor, an audible crack resounding throughout the basement they were in.

Bruce winced, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face away as Jeremiah yelped upon impact with the floor.

Then, Bruce’s eyes flew open, surveying the scene before him.

He gasped, remembering Jeremiah’s third letter.

_And then, quick as a thief in the night, you would force my head down into the cushion, flipping yourself onto me, mounting me from behind. I would cry out - yes, with shock, but also with ecstasy, that you have chosen to exact punishment upon me using the most beautiful, wonderful, and holy weapons of all: your hands, your teeth, your lips, your body, moving against mine. _

Jerome growled as he used both hands to rip Jeremiah’s tunic in half along his back, Jeremiah shuddering as he did so. 

_You would strip me of my clothes, rid me of my tunic and undergarments, perhaps ripping them to shreds with the anger you feel towards me, for all that I have done and said. _

Jerome bit down hard at the nape of Jeremiah’s neck, and Jeremiah cried out.

Bruce didn’t miss the way Jerome smiled into Jeremiah’s skin at his reaction.

“Missed you so much, Miah,” Jerome grunted. “Didja mean it? When you said you missed me, baby bro?” 

Jeremiah’s tunic and undergarments were now in tatters, pooled around Jeremiah’s sides.

“Of course,” Jeremiah whispered, tears streaming down his face, lips trembling.

Bruce remembered Jeremiah’s words about Jerome, before he’d known they were twin brothers.

_He was my first. I have heard your first is the one you never forget about._

Jerome roughly bunched up his own tunic and undergarments, freeing his cock and rubbing it against Jeremiah’s entrance.

“N-no, J, please,” Jeremiah whimpered. 

Jerome huffed out a laugh before lining himself up with Jeremiah’s entrance and seating himself fully inside Jeremiah to the hilt.

Bruce’s eyes widened, remembering Jeremiah’s third letter.

_And then - because I deserve it, because I am unworthy, because of how I acted out of impropriety - you would push yourself into me, without so much as a drop of oil or water to ease the way, and I would scream, and I would live and die for every second of it, and if I were to die at your hands in this way, I would be truly happy, and go to the afterlife without a morsel of regret for how I arrived there. _

Jeremiah’s howls were loud enough to wake the dead.

Bruce hissed, squeezing his eyes shut once more, uncertain if he would be able to stomach seeing Jeremiah in such pain.

Jerome pulled nearly all the way out of Jeremiah, and Jeremiah shrieked.

Jerome’s lips quirked up at this, pulling roughly on Jeremiah’s hair.

“Do you need me?” Jerome growled into Jeremiah’s ear.

Bruce’s stomach dropped as he recalled where he’d heard that before.

The other Jeremiah, whenever he would confront Bruce.

_Do you need me?_

“Y-Yes!” Jeremiah gasped out. “P-Please don’t, J, don’t - “

Jerome slammed himself back into Jeremiah, forcing his head back down into the floor, and Jeremiah screamed, tears pouring down his face.

The third letter.

_And if, by some miracle, I did not die, I would be forever grateful for every moment you writhed within me, moved into me and against me, and the tears pouring down my face would dampen the cushion beneath us, and yet you still would not stop, could not stop, until you were satisfied. _

Jerome pistoned in and out of Jeremiah, Jeremiah’s screams growing louder and higher in pitch. 

Then, as soon as Bruce was convinced he had sustained permanent hearing loss based on the ringing in his ears, Jerome suddenly pulled all the way out of Jeremiah, a sigh (Of relief? Of need?) being pulled from Jeremiah.

Jerome hauled Jeremiah up by the chin, forcing Jeremiah to face him fully.

“Show me how much you love your brother.” 

Jeremiah stilled, eyes washing over Jerome, as if contemplating his next move.

Bruce saw his hands trembling at his sides.

Then, his shaking subsided, and he lunged at Jerome, their mouths colliding in a bruising kiss.

Bruce recalled Jeremiah’s initial hesitance at sharing a kiss with him.

_To me…a kiss is forever. Something eternal; an imprint that will follow into the afterlife and beyond._

Jerome shoved Jeremiah’s head down along his body, and Jeremiah grunted, eyes squeezed shut.

Bruce swallowed down the bile that had risen up in his throat.

Jeremiah lowered his head down to Jerome’s cock, placing a gentle kiss to the tip.

It was only when Jeremiah pulled away with a red smear on his mouth that Bruce realized that there was blood all over Jerome’s cock. 

Bruce gagged, dry heaving into his hands, trying desperately not to think of how much pain Jeremiah had to be in.

Jerome grabbed a fistful of Jeremiah’s hair, pulling him back so that Jeremiah could stare up at him.

“Open up, Miah.” 

Jeremiah obeyed, lips parting slightly.

Jerome did not bother waiting for them to part more, instead shoving himself entirely inside Jeremiah’s mouth.

Jeremiah sputtered around Jerome’s cock, gagging as tears ran down his cheeks. 

Bruce felt a lump rise in his throat, but this time, it wasn’t bile that he had to swallow down.

His eyes stung with tears that threatened to mirror those running down Jeremiah’s face.

As Jerome thrust himself inside Jeremiah’s mouth, Jeremiah gagging with each motion, Bruce recalled how Jeremiah had so smoothly swallowed him down their first time together. 

Bruce bit down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. 

In hindsight, it made perfect sense as to how Jeremiah had been so able to take all of him in.

Jerome pulled out of Jeremiah’s mouth with a pop, gripping Jeremiah firmly by the throat again.

Jeremiah was wide-eyed, panting, fear-stricken, staring up at Jerome (In awe? In horror? Bruce couldn’t be sure). 

Jerome grinned madly down at Jeremiah before slamming Jeremiah’s head down into the floor again.

Jeremiah cried out, teeth tightly clenched against what Bruce assumed to be intolerable pain.

Jerome chuckled.

“Oh, Miah, you never cease to _amuse_ me.”

Without warning, Jerome shoved himself inside Jeremiah to the hilt, and Jeremiah howled. 

Then, just as quickly as he’d entered, Jerome pulled out of him, lips pursed in thought.

After a pause, Jerome raised his head, eyes twinkling as his lips curled up into a smirk.

“Why don’t ya show your _paramour_ over there,” Jerome gestured with his head in Bruce’s general direction, “how much you love big brother’s cock?”

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Jeremiah locked eyes with Bruce.

Time stood still as Bruce took in the sight of Jeremiah looking utterly broken, battered, and bruised.

Rivulets of tears streamed down Jeremiah’s face, his lips trembling violently.

More than anything, Bruce longed to cross the large distance between them, to trespass the physical and emotional iron bars separating them, and place a hand on his cheek.

Bruce longed to reassure Jeremiah that everything would turn out okay for the both of them.

It was only when Bruce felt a tear drip down his own cheek that he realized he couldn’t guarantee that would be the case.

In that moment, Jeremiah’s eyes glazed over, and Bruce felt the distance between them lengthening tenfold.

Jeremiah leaned his head into his forearm in resignation, and rocked back onto Jerome’s cock.

Jerome gasped, his head thrown back, eyes widening as Jeremiah backed himself fully onto him.

“_Goddamn_,” he breathed. “Love ya, baby bro.”

Bruce gulped, reminded of the note Jerome left on their mother’s corpse.

_Love ya, baby bro._

Jerome gripped Jeremiah’s hips, snapping his own hips in a frenzy as Jeremiah sobbed into the crook of his arm, his other arm pinned behind his back by Jerome.

The already gray-toned room lost even more color in Bruce’s vision as tears spilled down his cheeks. 

Nothing made sense anymore.

Jerome let out a low, prolonged, rumbling moan as his movements sped up.

Then, he abruptly stopped, mouth open in an O shape, eyes wide as his hips jolted sporadically of their own accord.

Jeremiah’s body collapsed onto the hard floor, lying prone and unmoving for several long minutes as Jerome rode out his orgasm.

Tears continued to leak from Bruce’s eyes, spilling onto his cheeks and lips and down his throat. 

Distantly, Bruce wondered if Jeremiah had fainted from the trauma he’d just endured.

Finally, Jerome pulled out of Jeremiah, and once again Bruce saw red seeping out from Jeremiah’s entrance, along with Jerome’s seed.

Jeremiah’s third letter rang out in Bruce’s mind.

_And when you were finally satisfied with the punishment exacted upon me, you would rise up from me, out of me, and the evidence of your satisfaction would drip from me, red and milky white muddying together, a perfect marriage signifying your happiness and my pain, conjoined together. _

Bruce’s limbs went numb.

After some time, Jerome reached a hand out to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah stirred lightly before glancing up at Jerome, seeming hesitant on whether to take it.

Then - to Bruce’s surprise - Jeremiah placed his hand in Jerome’s, allowing Jerome to pull him to his feet.

Jerome slung his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders, pulling him close and kissing his temple as he led him to the stairs.

Jerome stopped in his tracks.

“Ecco!” He called out. “Throw some clothes down the stairs, would ya?”

“On it, boss!” a shrill voice rang back. 

Jerome absentmindedly rustled Jeremiah’s hair, nestling his forehead against Jeremiah’s cheek.

As they were facing away from Bruce, Bruce could not discern Jeremiah’s reaction to this.

Then, the door to the stairwell opened, and two spare tunics were thrown down to the foot of the steps.

“Thanks, my dear!” Jerome shouted up to the ceiling before taking the tunics and handing one to Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah gingerly took the proffered tunic, stepping into it.

Bruce was surprised that the tunic fit him so well, considering that the tunic likely was Jerome’s.

Then again, they were identical twins, after all.

“I’m excited to show ya around the place, broski,” said Jerome after donning his tunic and slinging an arm around Jeremiah once more. “I think you’ll take a liking to it. Sure as hell beats that shithole we were in before!”

Jeremiah nodded once before matching pace with Jerome as they ascended the steps into what Bruce could only assume was Jerome’s personal estate. 

Just before going out of sight, Jeremiah met Bruce’s eyes, and behind his back raised a single finger.

Then, Jeremiah vanished upstairs with Jerome.

Bruce was decidedly puzzled as he lied down on his back on the cold stone floor.

_What could that possibly mean?_

As Bruce drifted in and out of consciousness, one thought occurred to him.

_One chance._

Jeremiah had saved him by sacrificing his dignity to distract Jerome from dismembering him, or worse. 

He’d only have one shot at taking advantage of this oversight by Jerome.

Still, Bruce’s fatigue was overwhelming, and he welcomed the sweet release of sleep as reprieve from the atrocity he had just witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, was that a difficult chapter to write. Thanks for being patient on this one. Writing the rape/non-con was extremely emotionally taxing on me; otherwise I would've gotten the chapter out sooner. 
> 
> The twinleska rape/non-con was always intended to be a part of this story, but boy did I not realize how hard it would be to write.
> 
> It's the end of the fourth act, folks! One act left :) 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this for so long; means a lot to me that this has any kind of following at all.
> 
> Much love and see you soon <3


	22. Chapter 22

A clanging noise woke Bruce from his slumber.

As he reared his head to investigate the source of the sound, a loud thud resounded down toward him.

_ The stairwell _ .

Muffled yelps echoed through the basement as two pairs of footsteps drew nearer.

“Alright, alright, quit it,” a man grunted out impatiently.

Light flooded the basement and Bruce brought a hand to his face, gritting his teeth at the sudden brightness.

Around his raised hand, Bruce was able to make out a figure kicking at something in front of him.

“There ya go,” the figure said, almost as if coaxing the bundle on the floor in front of him. Bruce recognized him as the voice he’d heard first.

“Here’s the keys, Marcus,” another man called out from the stairs.

The sounds of keys jangling filled the air as the first man caught something in his hand.

“Thanks,” the man — Marcus, Bruce assumed — murmured as footsteps plodded back up the staircase.

The muffled cries Bruce had heard before were now silent.

Bruce stared down at the bundle on the floor, wondering to himself.

_ Is that…? _

Bruce’s head turned at the sound of the keys jangling again, and was startled by a loud screeching sound.

As Bruce covered his ears, he peeked at where the sound was coming from.

Marcus had used the keys to open the door of the cell next to Bruce’s.

Bruce shook his head. Jerome surely had money to spare; couldn’t he have fixed up his own prison with quieter doors?

Bruce’s eyes landed once more on the bundle on the floor.

_ A prisoner. _

“Alright, little lady. Here’s your new home.”

_ Lady? _

Marcus gestured vaguely into the cell, looking downward as if prompting the bundle to move.

When no response came, Marcus sighed, rolling the bundle into the cell with his hands.

“Well, have it your way,” he mumbled, pushing the iron door to the cell closed.

He turned to Bruce.

“Have fun while you still can,” Marcus grumbled vaguely before heading back up the stairs with his lantern. “Jerome was never a patient one.”

As the light from the lantern receded up the stairwell with Marcus, Bruce lowered his forehead to the cold floor, wishing he were anywhere but here.

* * *

Bruce didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the stirring in the cell next to him made him bolt up from his slumber.

“Hello?” Bruce called out tentatively, gasping for breath.

A shriek resounded out from the cell next to his.

“Bruce! Is that you?!”

Bruce jumped up, eyes brimming with tears.

“Selina!” Bruce bounded over to the corner of his cell closest to hers.

“Where are you, Bruce? How can I see you?”

Bruce heard her breathing speed up, desperation clouding her voice.

“I, uh,” Bruce wavered, trying to fit his head through the gap in the iron bars. “I am… in the process of working that out.”

“You’re in the one next to me, right? You’re closer to the stairwell than I am.”

Bruce grunted, exerting as much force as he could trying to see out from his cell. “I am to your right, when you face out of your cell.”

“Oh, good,” Selina said, sighing with relief. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to know you’re here with me, Bruce.”

Bruce sat back, groaning mightily.

“Selina, you won’t like me after I say this.”

“Hmm?”

Bruce breathed in. “I can’t figure out a way to see you from where I am right now. I am right up against our shared wall, and what very little I can poke my head out I can’t see you.”

Selina exhaled loudly. “You’re quite right. I can’t say I like you anymore after hearing that.” A lilt to her voice signaled her sarcasm.

Bruce couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. “You think yourself funny, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Selina drawled. “Wait! I have an idea. Can you see how far you can stick your arm out from your cell?”

“Good idea,” said Bruce, sticking his left arm out of the cell as far as he could.

“Oh! I see your arm! Let me see if I can grab it from here.” Bruce heard some shuffling before he felt a hand rest on his forearm.

Bruce instinctively jerked at the sudden sensation before recovering, but not before Selina noticed.

“Oh, sorry, Bruce,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to — “

“It is  _ fine _ ,” Bruce forced out, focused on recomposing his breathing.

Selina’s hand moved up to cup the back of his extended hand. “Are you okay?”

At this, Bruce gave a huff of laughter. “Much has happened in the little time I’ve been here.”

Selina didn’t respond, instead squeezing the back of his hand gently. “I’m always here to listen, if you feel that it would help.” She chuckled. “It has nothing at  _ all _ to do with my insatiable curiosity.”

“Of course not,” quipped Bruce. He sighed. “I would not even know where to begin, if I were being honest.”

“That’s fair. If you ever want to talk, you know I’m here.”

Bruce nodded, turning his hand over in Selina’s to clasp hers.

He fervently wished they could see one another.

“Noted.”

“Though, I will not hold back about my thoughts regarding Jerome,” Selina warned. “I know he’s Jeremiah’s twin brother, but — “

“It’s fine.” Bruce heaved a sigh. “Even Jeremiah called him darkness incarnate.”

Selina’s hand flexed in his. “Did you know he had a brother?”

“I knew he had a brother,” said Bruce, “but I didn’t know he was still alive. Jeremiah said the family had undergone a tragedy — I didn’t know the tragedy was Jerome killing their mother.”

Selina’s hand slipped out of his. “Wait, really? When did you find out?”

“The day of the senatorial elections,” said Bruce. “He told me after he got back from Stanton Holding Industries.”

“What happened at the meeting, anyway? I know Jerome said that you and Jeremiah went there to frame him for your father’s murder, but he failed to recognize I’d see through such a story, considering I set up the meeting between you two through his assistant.”

Bruce huffed a laugh at this. “Well, suffice it to say, Jeremiah and I were not on good terms that day. I insisted we not go to the meeting, as it seemed apparent the odds were stacked against us what with the Senate bill being killed in session. He disagreed, and went alone.”

Selina’s fingers rapped against the shared concrete wall between her and Bruce’s cells. “I don’t blame him. You should have gone, too.”

Bruce stood, pacing the floor of his cell. “It made no sense for me to go. RELAC was clearly involved in our bill being shot down, so I figured Eric Stanton would not be inclined to disclose much to us.”

“Bruce, I do  _ so _ admire your continual appeals to reason, but you have an awful habit of getting just within distance of finding the truth, and then doing everything possible to squander your chance at it.” Selina groaned. “It’s almost like you don’t actually believe you’ll ever get there, so you don’t bother following through when it matters most.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, silent.

“Though, that’s been the theme of this whole investigation into your father’s murder, hasn’t it?” Selina murmured.

Bruce said nothing as he seated himself back down on the concrete floor next to their shared wall.

Selina sighed heavily. “Honestly, Bruce? I find it hard to believe sometimes that you and the late Emperor were related. At every critical juncture, you’ve made the exact opposite move I believe he would have made.”

“Are you quite done, Selina?” Bruce snipped, a scowl breaking across his face.

Selina huffed. “For now, I suppose.” Sounds of scuffling echoed along the wall they shared. “I’m quite tired, so I am going to lie down and rest.”

Bruce was aghast. “ _ Really _ ? We need to be planning our escape!”

Selina yawned loudly. “You can’t see me, so you don’t know exactly how bad I look right now.”

_ Oh. _

As Bruce laid down on the ground on his side, his back to their shared wall, he pondered.

He’d forgotten that just a few short hours ago, she’d been kicked while in a sack before being rolled along the ground into her cell.

Bruce’s eyes slowly fluttered shut, the pain in both the front and back of his head subsiding just enough to take him to slumber.

* * *

Jeremiah’s eyes fluttered open, and pitch—black darkness greeted him.

He bolted upright.

“Bruce?” Jeremiah breathed out.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was no longer in the basement where Bruce was, but was instead nestled in a soft cushion, with a wool covering over him.

Jeremiah swung his legs over the cushion, his bare feet meeting the (surprisingly warm) floor. 

He looked down at himself, seeing that he was still in the tunic his brother had given him before while in the basement.

_ His brother… _

“Jerome?” 

Rustling echoed down the hall, and a scurrying figure approached him, holding a lantern. 

“Jeremiah! You’re awake,” said a soft, high-pitched voice. 

_ Ecco. _

“Would you like me to escort you to your brother?” Ecco continued. “He’s asleep, but he instructed me to wake him as soon as you were up and about.”

A sudden pain bloomed just above Jeremiah’s eyes, and he hunched over, grunting as he grit his teeth.

“On second thought,” Ecco cleared her throat, “it might be best if he came to you.”

When Jeremiah met her eyes, he thought he could see a flash of pity there.

“That’d be great,” said Jeremiah.

Ecco nodded quickly and made to leave.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Ecco, turning back around to him, “if you, um, need anything…” She gulped audibly. “I’m here for you.”

Jeremiah tilted his head, puzzled. “I, uh...Thanks, I guess?” 

Ecco bowed her head. “It’s nothing. You certainly look as though you’ve seen better days, if I may be frank.”

Jeremiah looked down at himself, shaking his head at the peculiarity of the situation.

Then, he composed himself, chuckling. “You might be right about that.”

Ecco nodded once before heading back into the hall.

Jeremiah winced, the pain in his forehead intensifying.

His curiosity about his surroundings would have to wait. He felt as though his head would burst at any moment, and he laid back down to rest his eyes. 

Several minutes later, he heard two pairs of footsteps heading down the hall toward him, and he sat up slowly, still holding a hand to his forehead.

“Baby bro!” Jerome exclaimed as he waltzed into the room, arms open wide. “You’re finally awake! Took ya long enough.” 

The lantern Ecco was holding beside Jerome illuminated his boyish smirk.

“How’d ya sleep? Hopefully the cushion is nice and comfy. Had it imported in from Greece just for you! Duck feather stuffing and all!” Jerome seated himself beside Jeremiah, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

Jeremiah winced as the back of his head began to ache, leaning away from Jerome.

“Aw, come on! Aren’t you excited to see me? You were conked out for a good while there!” Jerome giggled.

“I’m sorry, J, I just…” Jeremiah placed his head in his hands. “My head really hurts.”

Flashes from what had happened in the basement earlier came to him, and he touched the back of his head gingerly.

There was a spot towards the base of his neck where there was no hair.

_ Pulled my hair out...threw my head onto the ground... _

Jerome huffed. “Can’t be all that bad, huh? I just pulled your hair a bit and got a little rough, that’s all. Nothing you can’t handle after all these years!” 

Jeremiah sighed heavily, his chest sinking. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look at me.” Jerome grabbed Jeremiah’s chin and turned his face toward his own. “Looks like your cheek is a little worse for wear after I slapped the shit outta ya, huh? Good times!” Jerome cackled, hand slapping his thigh.

Jeremiah couldn’t stifle a yawn that managed to escape past his lips. “J, I’m tired.” He pulled his quivering hand away from his face, hoping that Jerome wouldn’t notice. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Jerome let out a groan. “Ugh, 10 years apart from each other and you don’t wanna spend some time with me to make up for it?” He paused, glancing at Jeremiah’s face.

Jeremiah looked back at him, waiting.

Jerome rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone for now. You’re way more fun when you’re not grumpy and tired anyway!” A hearty laugh filled the room as he rose, Ecco joining him at his side as they left the room.

“Toodle-oo, dear brother! Sleep well, and dream of me tonight!” Jerome waggled his brows, and then turned the corner into the hall, with Ecco following close behind.

Jeremiah collapsed back onto the cushion, chest heaving. 

_ What a stressful interaction. _

Just before sleep overtook him, he remembered why he’d wanted to talk to Jerome in the first place. 

_ Where’s Bruce? _

Jeremiah shook his head to himself. It could wait until the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, folks. Just wanted to get a chapter out for you so that you know I'm still actively working on this.


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